UC-NRLF 


•1-  I 


THE 
B  OF  THE 


CHARLES 

RANN 
KENNEDY 


BOOKS  BY 
CHARLES    RANN   KENNEDY 


SEVEN  PLAYS  FOR  SEVEN  PLAYERS 

Volumes  now  ready: 

THE   WINTERFEAST 

THE   SERVANT   IN   THE   HOUSE 

THE   IDOL-BREAKER 

THE   RIB  OF  THE   MAN 

SHORTER  PLAYS  FOR  SMALL  CASTS 

Volumes  now  ready: 

THE  TERRIBLE  MEEK 
THE   NECESSARY  EVIL 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW   YORK 


Photograph  by  Alice  Boughton 

EDITH     WYNNE    MATTHISON     AS     DIANA 


THE 

RIB  OF  THE  MAN 

A    PLAY    OF    THE     NFW    WORLD    IN     FIVE    ACTS 
SCENE  INDIVIDA!!  .  NG  FORTH  THE  STORY 

OF    AN   AFTERNOON    ?N    THE    FULNESS    OF    DAYS 

BY 

CHARLES  ..RANN    KENNEDY 


Nwv  ci  yt-Kotcwv  QvXov 
'0\i//tirtrt^ef,  *c 

•  -litikid  Theogotj  1021 


HARPER  y  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW     YORK     AND     LONDON 


EDITH    \\ 


THE 

RIB  OF  THE  MAN 

A  PLAY  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD  IN  FIVE  ACTS 
SCENE  INDIVIDABLE,  SETTING  FORTH  THE  STORY 
OF  AN  AFTERNOON  IN  THE  FULNESS  OF  DAYS 

BY 

CHARLES  ^RANN    KENNEDY 


Ni/v  Sk  yvvaiKuv  <j>v\ov 

Movaai  'OXv/iTrta&C)  icovpat  Ato?  atyto^oto. 

—  Hesiod  Theojony  1021 


HARPER  fef  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW     YORK     AND     LONDON 


CONTENTS 

THE  FIRST  ACT 

PAGE 

THE  TREE  OF  THE  KNOWLEDGE 17 

THE  SECOND  ACT 
FIG-LEAVES 65 

THE  THIRD  ACT 
THE  FLAMING  SWORD 103 

THE  FOURTH  ACT 
THORNS  AND  THISTLES 137 

THE  FIFTH  ACT 
THE  WAY  OF  THE  TREE  OF  LIFE 179 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 


PERSONS  OF  THE  PLAY 
DAVID  FLEMING   An  image  of  God         THE  MAN 
ROSIE  FLEMING    An  help  meet  for  him      THE  RIB 

ARCHIE  LEGGE      A  gentleman 

A  BEAST  OF  THE  EARTH 

BASIL  MARTIN  An  aviator  A  FOWL  OF  THE  AIR 

PETER  PROUT  A  scientist         THE  SUBTLE  ONE 

ION  A  gardener  THE  VOICE  WALKING 

DIANA  BRAND  A  spare  rib  THE  FLAMING  SWORD 

THE   PLACE 

THE  COURTYARD  of  a  villa  overlooking  the  sea, 
on  an  island  of  the  ^Egean.    The  name  is  EDEN. 

THE  TIME 

Between  the  hours  of  five  and  half  past  seven  on 
an  afternoon  during  the  European  War. 


THE    SCENE 

It  is  the  COURTYARD  of  a  villa  overlooking  the 
sea,  on  an  island  of  the  ^Egean.  The  stonework  is 
marble,  square-blocked  without  ornament  and  the 
colour  of  honey. 

The  VILLA  is  to  the  left:1  the  upper  story,  a 
loggia  with  stairway  descending  sidelong  to  the 
yard:  the  lower,  yawning  into  cellarage.  On  the 
right  are  COLUMNS,  CYPRESS  TREES  and  a  glimpse 
of  GARDEN.  A  TERRACE,  approached  by  STEPS 
and  bounded  by  a  low  WALL,  occupies  the  back- 
ground. The  wall  is  recessed  for  a  seat.  Beyond 
are  cedar  branches  and  a  blue  sky. 

A  plot  of  lawn  carpets  the  YARD.  A  couple  of 
classic  benches  stand  formally  right  and  left.  In 
the  centre  upon  a  plain  modern  base,  an  ancient 
ALTAR.  It  is  a  tripod  of  Egyptian  porphyry,  scarred 
with  age,  but  glowing  like  a  flame  of  rose.  The 
inscription  in  Greek  uncials  below, 

THI  TON  0EQN  MHTPI 

points  to  a  worship  that  goes  back  beyond  all  bibles 
to  the  foundations  of  the  world. 

1The  directions,  Right  and  Left,  throughout  the  play,  refer  to  the 
spectator's  point  of  viewt 


THE   GREEK    SONG 

The  first  and  last  stanzas  of  Sappho's  HYMN  TO 
APHRODITE,  sung  in  Greek  to  Brahms'  Sapphische 
Odey  are  used  throughout  the  play.  They  run: 


iroiKiXoOpov',  aOavar*  ' 
ircii  At'oe,  SoXoTrXoice,  Xiaxrojitai  ae, 
fj.fi  jui  aaaivt  /urjr'  bviaiai  Sajuva, 
irorvia,  Ovfjiov. 


fioi  KOI  vvvf  \a\itrav  Si  Xuerov 
IK  fjL£pifJLvavf  oaaa  Se  /zot  rlXedaat 
i,  TtXtcrov'  ait  8'  aura 


Immortal  Aphrodite  of  the  broidered  throne, 
daughter  of  Zeus,  weaver  of  wiles,  I  pray  thee, 
break  not  my  spirit  with  anguish  and  distress, 
O  Queen. 

Come,  I  pray  thee,  now  too,  and  release  me  from 
cruel  cares;  and  all  that  my  heart  desires  to  accom- 
plish, accomplish  thou,  and  be  thyself  my  ally. 
(Wharton). 

The  Curtain  rises  and  descends  each  time  to 
phrases  from  the  same  melody,  arranged  for  the 
orchestra. 


THE    FIRST   ACT 

THE  TREE  OF  THE  KNOWLEDGE 


THE  RIB  OF  THE  MAN 


THE  FIRST  ACT 

In  the  beginning  there  is  shewn  an  Ancient  Gardener, 
busy  with  a  besom.  He  wears  a  saffron  smock,  his 
brown  legs  bare  but  sandalled.  It  is  ION.  As  he 
works  he  croons  a  song  in  Greek. 

He  breaks  off  suddenly,  diverted  by  some  happening 
in  the  garden;  and  PETER  PROUT  crawls  in.  A  queer 
old  party  with  a  flat  head,  and  clad  in  silver  grey. 

PETER  is  equipped  with  entomological  tackle  and  has 
caught  something.  He  now  wriggles  pleasantly  upon 
the  altar,  nipping  its  thorax. 

PROUT.    I  get  old  and  stiff  as  sin.     But  I  still  bag 
beauties.     Sss!    A  fine  fat  female. 

He  stabs  her  neatly  with  a  pin:  then, 
looking  up,  catches  ION'S  eye. 

Krr! 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 
ION.         What  for,  you  murder  my  dear  butterfly? 

PROUT.  My  good  sir,  science!  Surely  a  little  blood- 
shed in  the  sacred  cause  of  science  .  .  . 
Ah! — You  don't  know  who  I  am.  Nobody 
ever  does  at  first.  No  matter!  Prout! 
I  repeat,  sir,  Prout!  Peter  Prout! 

ION.         Is  it  a  joke? 

PROUT.  Joke!  I'm  introducing  myself.  Do  I 
strike  savagery,  where  the  name  of  Prout  is 
nothing  ? 

ION.  Forgive!  It  is  a  foolish  island.  Here  we 
live  thousand  of  year  ago,  all  day  long. 

PROUT.  This  is  the  penalty  of  incognito.  If  I  went 
about,  the  roaring  lion,  devouring  their  in- 
digestible dinners,  Yd  be  welcome  as  the 
devil.  I  come,  a  simple  old  soul  with  a 
butterfly  net,  and  I'm  a  joke.  Let  me  tell 
you,  sir,  there's  more  behind  this  net  than — 
butterflying!  It  is  the  symbol  of  a  craft 
that  tangles  Life  herself.  She  can't  fool 
me.  I  know  her  secret. 
[18] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 
ION.         I  am  Greek:  I  like  a  secret.     Tell  me. 

And  he  settles  coaxingly  at  his  feet. 

PROUT.  Sex.  The  fact  may  not  have  pierced  your 
island  gloom,  but  PROUT  ON  SEX  denotes  the 
final  word.  In  that  book,  I  expose  all.  I 
investigate  amatory  impulse  from  its  mild 
beatitudes  in  primordial  mud  to  the  com- 
positions of  Matisse.  What  do  I  find? 
Sex!  I  find  sex  in  everything,  and  I  do 
not  shrink  from  saying  so.  Little  of  the 
modest  violet  about  me,  sir!  I'm  biologi- 
cal or  nothing. 

ION.  Ah,  now  you  are  talking  Greek:  I  under- 
stand. I  study  life  too,  here  in  my  garden. 

PROUT.  Bless  my  bones! .  .  .  And  I  mistook  you  for 
an  oriental  mystic! 

He  slips  down  for  a  hobnob. 
ION.         Have  a  bit  of  fig? 
PROUT.    Krr!    Mine's  smoke. 

Their  rituals  occupy  them  a  moment. 
[19] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

ION.  You  are  a  wise  man.  How  of  a  case 
like  so? 

You  are  only  the  old  fool  in  the  gar- 
den. You  go  about,  you  dig,  you  plant; 
but  you  are  like  God — you  are  deaf:  so 
we  talk  aloud.  All  the  same,  your  big  ear, 
it  is  wide  open,  and  one  day,  down  by 
the  Tree  We  Must  Not  Pick,  you  learn — 
a  Secret!  Next,  you  think  to  help  a  bit: 
so  you  write  and  tell.  And  now  already, 
she  is  back  in  the  villa;  and  in  a  jiff,  Mrs. 
Fleming  will  be  here  too. 

PROUT.    I  see  sex  in  this  already.     Proceed. 

ION*  Your  Beautiful  Moon,  she  is  upstair, 
changing  herself  of  the  voyage.  Not  a 
soul  know  she  is  come.  Mrs.  Fleming,  she 
is  down  at  the  Kafenia,  turkey-dancing  for 
the  Red  Cross.  It  is  when  they  meet,  you 
bad  old  man,  you  will  find  what  you  have 
done.  Only,  it  is  not  you.  It  is  me  all 
the  time,  see?  So! 

PROUT.  From  your  disorganized  data,  I  infer:  two 
females  in  antagonism.  Yes? 

I  20] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

ION.  Antagonisma!  They  do  not  meet  for  three 
year. 

PROUT.  Sss!  I  thought  the  one  bright  instinct  of 
my  life  could  not  deceive  me.  Who  is  the 
man? 

ION.  I  did  not  say  a  man.  Do  you  mean  Mr. 
Fleming?  Or  one  of  the  others? 

PROUT.    Others!    What! — Polyandry? 

ION.  Not  so  very  poly.  It  is  only  four  of  us 
who  are  men,  counting  me. 

PROUT.  Ample,  sir,  for  polyandric  purposes!  I 
must  contrive  some  way  of  sticking  on 
here. 

ION.  That  will  make  five.  [Counting];  You  and 
me:  Captain  Martin  from  the  big  war: 
Mr.  Legge,  who  is  always  come  amusing 
Mrs.  Fleming;  and  ....  Ah! — Mr. 
Fleming. 

PROUT     (glittering).     Bit  of  a  mole,  eh? 

[21] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

ION.  What  you  call  archaiologos,  yes.  He  goes 
all  day  digging  for  pots  and  palaces  under 
the  ground. 

PROUT.  The  archaeological  husband! — Sss!  .  .  . 
Now,  listen.  Can't  have  everybody  med- 
dling in  this  problem.  Polyandry  means 
mine!  Don't  you  get  shoving  in  your 
oar;  and  I'll  shew  you  how  we  practise 
science  down — my  way. 

ION.         You  will  do  all  this  for  love  of  me  ? 

PROUT.  Certainly  not,  sir!  My  devotion  is  purely 
psychoanalytical. 

ION.         Oh!    That  is  all  right  then. 
He  begins  moving  away. 

PROUT.  One  moment!  That  Secret,  down  by  the 
Tree.  .  .  ? 

ION.  Ah,  that  I  do  not  tell.  I  leave  it  for  your 
so-clever  net  to  tangle. 

PROUT.    Krr! 

[22] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

ION,  blithely  warbling,  pads  to  the  ter- 
race. There  he  meets  ROSIE  FLEM- 
ING. She  is  a  pretty  thing  in  pink 
with  a  parasol. 

PROUT'S  angry  rattle  changes  to  a 
pleased  hiss. 

ROSIE.     Ion,  do  stop  howling.     Is  Mr.  Legge  here? 

ION.  It  is  a  wonderful  thing,  I  have  to  tell! 
Already,  my  Beautiful  Moon  .  .  . 

ROSIE  (shooing  him  down).  I  really  can't  bother 
listening  to  one  of  your  long-winded  Greek 
myths  this  hot  afternoon.  I'm  far  too 
cross.  Hasn't  anybody  come?  Ion!  Oh! 

For  he  has  resumed  his  melody.  She 
prods  him  with  her  parasol.  He 
rubs  the  place  ruefully  and  stops. 

Deaf  old  nuisance!  .  . 

Suddenly  her  face  wreathes  in  smiles. 
She  has  spied  the  hat  of  a  man. 
She  tiptoes  playfully  down  to  the 
altar; 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 
Archie  Legge,  you  naughty  boy!  .  .  . 

Only  to  find  PROUT  basking  there. 

I  beg  your  pardon.     I  mistook  you  for  a 
friend. 

PROUT.  No  mistake,  ma'am,  I  am.  Every  woman's 
friend.  Professor  Prout.  Prout  of  PROUT 
ON  SEX. 

ROSIE.  No  really,  how  charming!  Of  course, 
youVe  come  to  see  the  Altar.  My  hus- 
band's excavating,  but  I'm  Mrs.  Fleming. 
Pray  don't  move,  if  you're  cosy.  My 
friend,  the  one  I  thought  you  were,  adores 
that  place.  Goodness  knows  why! — It's 
the  hottest  spot  in  the  <5£gean. 

PROUT.  Thankee,  ma'am,  I'm  like  your  friend:  I 
adore  hot  spots.  What's  the  jigamaree? 

ROSIE.  The  Altar!  My  husband's  famous  dis- 
covery! Isn't  that  why  you  came? 

PROUT.    Not  precisely.     I  just  happened  this  way. 

1*4] 


THE   RIB   OF  THE   MAN 

in  pursuit  of  a  fine  female  butterfly.  Then 
too,  the  delightful  associations  of  the  name, 
EDEN,  on  the  gate-post,  naturally.  .  .  .  And 
here  I  am. 

ROSIE.  Fancy  not  knowing  David's  altar!  It's 
thousands  of  years  old — five  or  fifty,  I 
never  quite  remember.  The  scholars  rave 
over  it.  It  is  rather  jolly,  that  spot  of  rich 
warm  colour,  in  the  middle  of  all  this  chilly 
marble.  Decorative,  don't  you  think?  The 
Greek  at  the  back  of  your  legs  will  tell 
you  what  it's  all  about,  if  you  read  the 
wiggly  stuff.  I  don't! 

PROUT.  Greek!  I'm  afraid  my  eyes.  .  .  .  Moreover, 
upside  down.  .  .  . 

ROSIE.  Please  don't  get  apoplexy:  I've  mastered 
the  translation.  Lord,  I've  heard  nothing 
else  for  three  dreary  years!  To  THE 
MOTHER  OF  THE  GODS. 

PROUT.    Mother!    There  again!    Sss!  . 

ROSIE.     Yes,   rather   sweet!    Think  of  those   be- 


THE   RIB   OF  THE   MAN 

nighted  pagans  having  a  perfectly  ducky 
idea  like  that! 

PROUT.  Yes,  ma'am,  it's  curious  how  all  these 
outworn  anthropomorphic  symbols  keep  on 
harping  .  .  . 

He  is  interrupted  by  ION  squatting 
on  the  lawn  beside  him,  to  plait 
bines. 

ION.  Now  I  make  a  basket  for  the  figs  I  bring 
her. 

PROUT.    Krr!    Harping  .  .  . 

ION.  Three  year!  A  long  time  to  be  without  a 
fig! 

ROSIE.  Please  don't  take  any  notice.  It  en- 
courages him.  We  have  to  endure  him, 
because  this  is  the  one  decent  rentable 
villa  on  the  island,  and  it's  his.  But  the 
restrictions!  .  .  .  There!  Even  to  fruit- 
trees!  Simply,  I  suppose,  because  in  the 
first  idiocy  of  my  honeymoon,  I  christened 
[26! 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

the  place,  EDEN.  Selfishness,  that's  the 
trouble!  Just  plain  piggish  masculine  self- 
ishness and  lunacy! 

PROUT  (sotto  wee).  Lunacy!  And  he  led  me  to 
suppose  he  was  a  biologist! 

ROSIE.  He's  always  pretending  to  be  something 
silly.  And  you  needn't  lower  your  voice. 
There  is  that  blessing.  He's  stone  deaf. 

PROUT.    Deaf!  .  .  . 

He   turns  suspiciously,   but   ION   is 
contemplating  hidden  things. 

ION.  My  Moon,  they  shall  know  her  by  the  love- 
ly song  of  Sappho. 

RosiE.  There!  Everlastingly  chattering!  See, 
what  was  I  ... 

PROUT.  The  altar,  ma'am.  Its  pregnant  dedica- 
tion. 

ROSIE.     Exactly!    My  husband  has  written  a  huge 
book  about  it.    I  haven't  read  it  myself; 
[27] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

but  it's  fearfully  clever.  I  grant,  poor  dear 
Papa  did  actually  find  the  altar  and, 
Heaven  knows,  left  papers  enough  litter- 
ing the  house;  but  what  I  always  say  is, 
David  wrote  the  book!  The  recognition  it 
has  won  him,  you  wouldn't  believe!  Nat- 
urally, I  helped.  A  woman  can  do  so 
much,  don't  you  think?  I  don't  mean  in 
a  horrid  public  way;  but  in  the  home, 
among  friends,  everywhere,  just  quietly 
pushing,  hm?  What  is  the  good  of  know- 
ing people,  if  you  can't  use  them?  I'm 
afraid  I'm  only  very  old-fashioned.  Oddly 
enough,  David's  book  is  all  about  that  kind 
of  woman.  It  is  called,  THE  RIB.  You 
don't  mind  me  going  on  with  my  knitting, 
do  you? 

She  fishes  it  out  of  her  pink  bag. 

PROUT.  Talking  of  ribs,  ma'am,  strange  thing; 
but  on  the  very  first  page  of  PROUT  ON 
SEX  .  .  . 

ROSIE.     No    really,    how    delightful!    We   are    all 
making  trotty  little  comforters  for  the  poor 
[28! 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

fellows  at  the  front.  Isn't  this  war  ter- 
rible? The  royal  families,  how  they  must 
suffer:  all  related,  you  know!  We  have 
one  staying  with  us  now — a  soldier,  not  a 
royalty — Basil  Martin,  the  aviator.  You 
must  have  read  about  him  in  the  papers. 
Well,  after  that  perfectly  thrilling  event  up 
in  the  clouds,  he  came  down  here  to  con- 
valesce. An  awfully  decent  sort  and  fright- 
fully brave;  but  just  a  weeny  bit  stand- 
offish!— Pity,  isn't  it?  Men  are  so  scarce 
in  this  wilderness. 

PROUT.    Not  so  very  poly!    Ah!  ... 

ROSIE.     Yes,  you're  going  to  scold  me  for  a  naughty 
little  flirt,  I  know!  .  .  . 

She  favors  him  with  her  pet  pout; 

Everybody  scolds  me  nowadays!     Simply 
because  I  like  nice  men  friends,  instead  of 
a  lot  of  stuffy  women.     I  don't  care!  .  .  . 
Look!    Isn't  that  darling? 

She  lets  her  knitting  at  him,  a  long 
limp  reptile  of  uncoiling  wools.    He 

[29] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

takes  the  end,  wraps  it  round  his 
arm  and  plays  with  it  as  though  it 
were  some  live  thing. 

I  have  a  friend,  a  dear  ridiculous  old  maid 
who  does  everything.  She  started  it  for 
me.  I'm  only  in  my  first  row  myself;  but 
funny  old  Tilly  did  all  this!  Doesn't  it 
prove  what  I  was  saying?  Woman  can  do 
so  much.  To  help,  I  mean. 

PROUT.  You  mentioned  flirtation.  On  that  point, 
I  ... 

ROSIE.  My  idea,  absolutely.  Ah,  if  only  women 
would  realise  the  influence  they  have  in 
their  hands  already!  After  all,  men  merely 
want  managing!  But  all  this  unwomanly 
publicity  and  unkindness  to  policemen! 
Surely,  Home  does  mean  something,  or 
whatever  was  the  use  of  writing  the  song? 
Indelicacy,  that's  the  trouble!  And  I 
think  they  ought  to  be  stopped! 

PROUT.    Touching  flirtation,  neurosis  re  veals Krr! 

It  is  ION  again,  with  a  burst  of  song. 
[30] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

ROSIE.  Ion!  Ion!  Oh,  please  poke  him  in  the 
back  with  your  net! 

Which  PROUT  does.  ION  rewards 
him  with  a  face  of  beaming  brother- 
hood. 

ION.  How  do  you  do?  Yes,  I  am  here.  I  do 
not  put  in  the  oar,  once! 

ROSIE.  Please  go  on.  Don't  let  him  keep  on 
rudely  interrupting  you. 

PROUT.  What  I  wanted  to  say  was  this.  You 
wrong  me  by  supposing  I  disapprove  of 
what  you  call — flirtation.  Indeed,  I  claim 
I  may  be  styled  flirtation's  paramount 
apostle!  .  .  . 

She  wags  a  finger  at  him,  signifying 
"Naughty!";  but  he  hisses  her 
down; 

Yes,  madam,  a  perusal  of  my  book  would 
show  my  viewpoint  is  most  liberal.  I 
maintain  flirtation  is  a  practice  sanctioned 


THE    RIB    OF    THE    MAN 

by  every  high  and  hallowed  biologic  prin- 
ciple. Take  now,  the  example  of  the 
female  stickleback  .  .  . 

ION.  There  is  that  drat  telegram-boy,  again  at 
my  fig-tree!  Ail  You  Turk,  wait  till  I 
come  hold  of  you ! 

And  he  fusses  off  into  the  garden. 

ROSIE.  There,  you  see!  That  tree  again!  Selfish 
old  ... 

So  nice,  meeting  you!  You  can't  imagine 
how  refreshing  it  is,  having  a  dear  old 
gentleman  to  talk  to,  after  a  pack  of  tire- 
some boys. 

PROUT.  Nothing  more  natural!  Indeed,  in  this 
very  instance  of  the  stickleback  .  .  . 

ROSIE.     Older  men  are  so  much  more — more  .  .  . 

PROUT.  Unquestionably!  When  the  flamboyant 
male  of  that  affectionate  little  fish  .  .  . 

ROSIE.     These    sudden    intimacies!     Sometimes    I 
think  they  mean  we  may  have  met  before. 
[32] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

Perhaps  in  some  other  world.     Some  bet- 
ter world !  .  .  . 

And  so  you  have  written  a  nice  naughty 
old  book  all  about  flirtation! 

He  drops  his  stickleback  at  once; 

PROUT.    Yes,  ma'am,  yes:   in  the  larger  sense,  yes! 
Of  course,  when  we  say  flirtation,  there 
is  flirtation  and  flirtation.     We  mean — flir- 
tation. 

ROSIE.     My  way  of  thinking,  exactly!    You  put  it 
all  so  clearly! 

PROUT.  You  appreciate  clarity? — Ah,  you  should 
see  my  book!  There's  clarity  for  you — 
clarity  and  naked  truth!  Madam,  you 
shall  see  it!  I  have  one  here  in  my  knap- 
sack: several!  I  disseminate  them  wher- 
ever I'm — permitted. 

He  begins  fumbling  at  the  knapsack. 
ROSIE.     Really,  I  don't  deserve  .  .  . 

PROUT.    Madam,  you  do;  but  you  don't  know  why. 
I  will  tell  you  why.     It  is  because  you  are 
[331 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

the  problem  I  have  been  seeking  all  my 
life.  I  have  found  you  down  among  the 
spiders,  the  anthropoids,  the  Himalayan 
Kulus;  but  never  before  as  high  as  this. 
Mrs.  Fleming,  congratulations!  Already  I 
behold  in  you  my  next  experiment.  Scien- 
tifically you  are  mine.  To  express  myself 
with  radiant  perspicuity:  /  know  all! 

ROSIE      (weakly).  All!    About  what? 

PROUT.    You.    The  other  problem,  the  problem  of 
the  Beautiful  Moon  up  yonder  .  .  . 

He   points   to   the   villa.     She   gapes 
be  wilder  edly  at  the  heavens. 

...  I  do  not  yet  profess  to  fathom.  It  is 
you  only,  courageous  female!  And  I  ap- 
plaud you  for  it. 

ROSIE.     Then    for   mercy's    sake,    you    fascinating 
mysterious  old  thing,  explain. 

PROUT.    I  will;    and  in  one  word.     Hitherto  we 
have    employed    the    empty    euphemism, 
Flirtation.     What  of— Polyandry  ? 
[34] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 
ROSIE.     Polly — what? 

PROUT.    Andry.     Comes  from  the  Greek,  aner. 
ROSIE.     Never  heard  of  the  place.    Nor  the  lady. 

PROUT  (scribbling).  There,  ma'am,  PROUT  ON  SEX, 
the  fruit  of  all  my  knowledge,  autographed. 
It  represents  the  happy  labours  of  a  life- 
time. Take  it,  digest  it  and  become  wise. 

/ 

ROSIE.     How  perfectly  heavenly  of  you!     I'll  .  .  . 

She  skims  rapidly  through  the  pages; 

I'll   put   it   with    David's    and   my   dear 
Papa's! 

PROUT.    Ah! — Heredity!    Who  was  Papa? 

ROSIE.  Why,  you  don't  seem  to  know  anything 
about  us!  Papa  was  Dr.  Brand.  Erasmus 
Brand. 

PROUT.  What,  the  great  Brand?  Brand  that  found 
the  famous  phallic  .  .  . 

[35] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 
ROSIE.     Absolutely! 

PROUT.  So  that's  where  I  am!  Talk  of  coinci- 
dences! And  of  course,  you  were  the  young 
girl!  Not  a  day  older,  positively!  Amaz- 
ing! .  .  . 

So  you  did  marry  the  man  ? 

ROSIE.     Whatever  are  you  trying  to  say? 

PROUT.    Why,  I've  been  here  before.     Fact!    I  can 

recall  distinctly  every  single  .  .  . 

No!    There  wasn't  an  altar. 

ROSIE.  Then  you  never  saw  me!  That  thing's 
been  stuck  there,  ever  since  I  came. 

PROUT.    How  long  ago? 

ROSIE.    Three  years. 

PROUT.    Nonsense!    My  book's  older  than  that! 

ROSIE.  I  think  I  ought  to  remember  the  year  when 
David  and  I  were  married! 

PROUT.    Very    man,    I    mean.     Brand's    assistant. 

[36] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

Bristly   moustache.     Fellow  with   a   pick- 
axe, always  jabbering  Greek  with  you. 

ROSIE.     But  I  don't  know  Greek! 

PROUT.    Archaeology,   then.     Weren't  you   and   he 
constantly  .  .  . 

ROSIE.     No! 

PROUT.    Then  Pm  .  .  . 

No,  I'm  not!    There  was  a  girl.    And  I'll 
swear  Brand  said  his  daughter. 

ROSIE.     That  was  my  sister.     And  I  don't  want 
to  talk  about  her,  please! 

PROUT.    Ah!  .  .^ 

Just  one  little  point.     Her  name? 

ROSIE      (snapping).  Diana! 

PROUT.    The  Beautiful  Moon!    Ah!  ... 

Sss!  .  .  . 

Something  is  happening  in  the  back- 
ground.   A  head  bobs  up.     Then  a 
l37l 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

body.     It  is  ARCHIE  LEGGE  climb- 
ing over  the  walL 

LEGGE.    Hello,  Rosie!    Guess  what!    Such  a  lark! 
ROSIE.     Archie,  I  do  think,  when  there's  a  gate  .  .  . 
He  turns  back  to  chaff  someone  below. 

LEGGE.  What  about  it,  dear  old  chap?  Haw!  .  .  . 
You  know,  he's  overdoing  this  wounded 
warrior  game.  Bally  old  newspapers  have 
made  him  dotty. 

RosiE.     Oh,  dear!     Captain  Martin  coming? 

LEGGE.  That's  the  joke.  Too  jolly  slow  for  me, 
limping  the  long  way  round  with  him. 
Know  what  I  did  ?  Laid  five  drachmas,  me 
handicapped,  you  the  goal.  Silly  cuckoo 
took  me,  started;  and  I  shinned  the  wall. 
That's  what  I  call  sport. 

He  then  alights,  pulls  his  tie,  and  joins 
ROSIE.  He  is  pimply,  forty,  and  the 
latest  thing  in  "summer  suitings"! 

[38] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

ROSIE.  You're  horrid;  and  I'm  angry  anyway! 
Why  didn't  you  turn  up  at  the  Kafenia? 

LEGGE.  I  say  though,  you  look  spiffing!  And  no 
beastly  people  about.  You  and  me  alone, 
what!  .  .  . 

She   restrains   his   approach,   panto- 
miming frantically. 

Where? .  .  . 
PROUT.    Here!    She  means  me. 

And  he  waggles  his  net  over  the  altar. 
LEGGE.    The  deuce! 

ROSIE.  Yes,  my  new  friend!  We  only  met  a 
moment  ago,  but  it  seems  ages!  Archie 
Legge:  Professor  .  .  . 

She  takes  a  peep  at  the  book. 
PROUT     (rasping).  Prout! 

LEGGE,   Haw! 

[39] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 
PROUT.    Sss! 

ROSIE.  The  professor  has  given  me  a  copy  of  his 
enchanting  book!  Sweet,  isn't  it? 

LEGGE     (taking  it).  Ripping!  .  .  . 

I  say  though,  really!     Sex,  you  know! 

PROUT.  I'll  slip  away  quietly! — No,  don't  insist! 
Perhaps  tonight  at  your  simple  family 
dinner. . . .  Meanwhile,  don't  mind  me  crawl- 
ing around  your  cellarage,  eh?  Nice  and 
dark!  And  there's  a  parasitic  male  rejoic- 
ing in  such  places,  whose  polygamous  en- 
thusiasms .  .  . 

And    he    vanishes    in    a    whistle    of 
sibilants. 

ROSIE.  Ugh!  I'm  bored  stiff!  Here  have  I  been 
making  myself  utterly  killing,  thinking  that 
old  grub  might  be  somebody;  and  he's 
only  an  author! 

LEGGE.  Really  though,  the  bounder,  giving  you  a 
thing  like  this!  Not  even  as  if  he  knew 


you! 


4° 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

He  gravitates  to  the  spot  he  adores, 
and  opens  the  book. 

Ton   my   word!    Very   thing,   I've   been 
saying  all  summer!    Haw! 

And  he  plunges  into  PROUT. 

ROSIE.     Well,  I  do  think,  considering  this  afternoon, 
instead  of  reading  that  silly  book  ... 

LEGGE.    Haw!    Rotten  old  rip! 
ROSIE.     Archie! 

LEGGE.    Hello,  did  you  speak?    I  say,  Rosie,  listen 
to  this.     My  philosophy  to  a  T! ... 
What's  up  now? 

ROSIE.     Oh,  friends,  friends! 

LEGGE.    What's  the  matter  with  friends? 

ROSIE.     Matter!    They're  every  bit  as  vile  and  sel- 
fish as — husbands! 

LEGGE.    Rosie,  don't  say  a  frightful  thing  like  that! 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

ROSIE.  Well,  why  didn't  you  turn  up  at  the 
Kafenia,  as  you  promised?  You  know  the 
only  happiness  I  have  in  the  world  is  turkey- 
trotting!  Yes,  I  know  it's  out  of  date;  but 
some  of  us  must  stand  for  the  beautiful 
old  ideals! 

She  fiddles  about  for  a  handkerchief. 
LEGGE.    Fact  is,  little  woman  .  .  . 

ROSIE.  I  did  expect  my  own  pals  to  support  me! 
There  I  stood  like  a  stuck  doll,  waiting  to 
score  off  all  those  stiff  Greek  frumps;  and 
the  place  a  hideous  vacuum!  And  it  was 
for  charity!  Then  you,  instead  of  being 
sorry,  sit  reading  footling  books;  and  he's 
invited  himself  to  dinner!  I'm  so  broken- 
hearted, I  vow  I'll  never,  never  trot  again! 

And  she  melts  into  tears. 

LEGGE.  Come  now,  that's  sheer  recklessness!  Little 
girl,  be  chippy! 

But  she  is  comfortless.    He  makes  a 
book-mark  of  a  blade  of  grass:  then 
goes  to  her. 
[42] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

Dear  child,  do  think  of  me!  Only  a  man! 
Woman  weeping,  don't  you  know!  Gets 
me  here! 

He  blinks  and  tugs  at  his  collar. 
Haw!    Baby  .  .  . 
ROSIE.     I  hate  you!    Go  away! 

He  does;   and  sits,  a  little  huffed. 

LEGGE.  That's  what  one  gets!  If  you  knew  what 
I'd  gone  through  today!  —  Troubles,  my 
Lord!  And  there's  a  bit  here  I  wanted 
to  read  you  about  turkeys :  only,  of  course, 
now  .  .  . 

Enough  to  make  a  fellow  do  something 
desperate!    Put  an  end  to  it  all! 

ROSIE      (roused).  Archie,  you  would  never  dare! 

LEGGE.  Don't  know!  Thought  of  it  only  this 
morning.  Shaving! 

The  horror  fascinates  her.     She  stares. 

[43] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

ROSIE.  Something's  wrong  with  the  whole  world, 
it  seems!  First  the  war  with  its  miseries. 
And  now  this. 

She  looks  at  him;  but  he  is  lost  in  the 
amorous  transports  of  the  barnyard. 
She  goes  and  touches  him.  He 
jumps. 

Boy,  I'm  sorry! 

He  grunts,  and  holds  the  passage  with 
a  finger. 

As  for  my  wicked  vow,  I  didn't  mean  it. 
I  never  do  mean  anything.  What,  sever 
the  one  precious  bond  that  links  our  loneli- 
ness? No,  Archie:  some  things  are  too 
sacred!  Turkey-trotting' s  one  of  them. 
Twinkle's  another. 

He  suffers  her  to  share  his  lowly  seat. 
Why  are  you  so  unhappy? 

LEGGE.    Unhappy,  what! 

144] 


THE    RIB    OF    THE    MAN 

ROSIE.  No-one  is  happy,  contemplating  suicide. 
Besides,  I  see  it  in  your  face.  The  moment 
you  bite  your  lip,  I  know  it  means  you're 
suffering.  Instinct,  I  suppose!  That's 
what  women  are  for — to  have  instinct  and 
help  the  unhappy.  Ah,  how  true  that  is! 

He  blinks  and  bites  simultaneously. 
Won't  you  tell  me,  Archie? 

LEGGE.  Well,  there  is — something.  Worrying  all 
day!  Ton  my  life,  these  women!  .  .  . 

ROSIE  (cooing).  Ye-es?  We're  getting  on  very 
nicely ! 

She  waits  expectantly.     He  looks  at 
his  nails:   then  answers; 

LEGGE.  Same  old  thing!  Always  the  same  old 
thing!  Another  letter  from — Her! 

ROSIE.     From  your  wife?    Oh!    Poor  Archie! 

LEGGE.  Knew  you'd  pity  me.  Thanks,  little 
woman. 

[45] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

He  marks  the  book,  and  they  clasp 
hands  there  by  the  altar.  Present- 
ly, she  falters  with  infinite  delicacy; 

ROSIE.     Wouldn't  you  like  to  show  me  the  letter? 

LEGGE.  Rosie,  I  wouldn't  for  the  world!  She's  as 
unsympathetic  as  a  fish!  Oh,  these  fishy 
women!  And  with  a  man  like  me  too,  all 
sunny  warmth  and  love! 

ROSIE.     I  know,  I  know!    Ah,  how  well,  I  know! 

LEGGE.  Imagine!  Wants  me  to  go  home  now! 
Home ! 

And  he  laughs  most  hollowly. 
ROSIE.     Horrible! 
LEGGE.    And  sarcastic!    Listen  to  this!  .  .  . 

He  rips  the  letter  from  his  pocket. 

It's  quite  safe  now:    the  wars  nearly  over. 
There's   marrying   one   of  these    unsexed 
[46] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

literary  women! — Always  so  darned  sar- 
castic! Do  you  ever  remember  you  re  a 
father?  Me,  mind  you,  who  can't  speak 
of  Billyboy  without  lumps  in  my  throat! 
Poor  little  chap!  Then  a  lot  of  drivel 
about  philandering  in  the  Archipelago! — 
meaning,  of  course,  you!  'Doesn't  that 
shew  you  what  Georgina  is? 

ROSIE.  It  all  seems  so  awful  I  A  life  like  yours, 
spoiled  by  such  a  heartless  creature! 

LEGGE.  Just  what  I  say!  By  Jove,  if  only  some- 
one— someone  different,  someone  more  like 
you  .  .  . 

RO^IE  (very  gently).  I  know  what  you  would  say, 
but  it  was  not  to  be.  Only,  I  have  helped 
a  little,  Archie?  Perhaps  our  beautiful 
friendship  has  not  been  wholly  wasted! 

LEGGE.  No,  not  wasted.  Bit  wobbly!  Rosie!  I 
say  though  really,  Rosie — you  and  me, 
don't  you  know — eh,  what?  .  .  . 

His  passion  shakes  her  for  the  mo- 
ment.    Then  she  answers  steadily; 
4  [471 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

ROSIE.  I  will  be  your  sister,  Archie.  Try  and  bear 
it.  However  it  hurts. 

LEGGE.    I  have  a  sister.    She's  worse  than  Georgina. 

ROSIE.  These  strange  sweet  intimacies!  Perhaps 
they  mean  we  may  have  met  before.  In 
some  other  world. 

LEGGE.  Jolly  sure  of  it,  if  you  ask  me.  Anyway, 
that  explains  the  Kafenia.  Fellow  can't 
very  well  turkey-trot  with  a  woman  like 
you,  and  this  in  his  pocket. 

He  rams  the  letter  back  again. 

Knew  you'd  worm  it  somehow.    Now  you 
know  all. 

ROSIE.     /  know  all!    What  does  that  phrase.  .  .  Ah! 
Archie,  do  you  happen  to  know  a  woman 
of  the  name  of  Polly  ? 

ARCHIE  evidently  does. 

LEGGE.    Well,  of  all  the  caddish That's  Martin! 

I  thought  some  pure-minded,  backbiting  . . . 
Polly  who? 

[48] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

ROSIE.  I'm  not  sure  of  the  surname.  Sounded 
rather  French.  But  I'm  positive  about 
Polly. 

LEGGE.  Martin,  I'll  swear!  Catch  me  telling  him 
anything  again!  There's  military  honour 
for  you!  Yes,  and  that's  how  Georgina 
came  to  know  about  you!  Captain  Basil 
Martin,  eh?  Of  all  the  sneaking,  crawl- 
ing ... 

ION   bursts  in  with  a  telegram  for 
ROSIE. 

ION.  Oh,  that  bad  boy,  how  I  grab  him  off  my 
tree!  There!  It  is  the  telegram  that  did 
not  come.  The  cable,  it  was  cut  by  the 
big  war,  and  it  is  all  a  day  ago  late.  And 
my  Moon,  she  will  rise,  and  not  a  fig  in  the 
basket!  Oh,  the  Turk! 

And  snatching  up  his  basket,  he  trots 
back  into  the  garden. 

ROSIE.  Now  did  you  gather  a  single  word,  he 
said? 

[49] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

LEGGE.    Lot  of  Greek  gabble,  no!     It's  that  fellow 
Martin,  I'm  after! 

And  as  ROSIE  opens  her  telegram, 
BASIL  MARTIN  limps  in  from  the 
garden.  He  is  in  white  mufti,  his 
left  arm  slinged. 

BASIL.     Don't  worry,  I'm  here. 

He  drops  five  drachmas  into  his  hand. 
LEGGE  pockets  them. 

Legge,  you  have  all  the  delicate  instincts 
of  a  millionaire. 

LEGGE.    Come  up  by  aeroplane?    Bit  slippy  for  the 
wounded  hero,  aren't  you? 

BASIL.     Still  solicitous  about  my  wounds,  dear  boy? 
You  know  I'm  only  foxing. 


ROSIE.     Oh!  . 


She  has  read  the  telegram,  and  now 
gazes  blankly  into  space. 

[so] " 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 
BASIL.     Hello!     Bad  news? 

ROSIE.     Devastating!    My  sister  is  coming  back. 
Tomorrow. 

BASIL.     Diana!    Impossible! 

ROSIE      (reading).  Arriving  five  tomorrow:   Diana. 

BASIL.     How  can  she  tomorrow,  when  the  only 
boat  ... 

She    hands    him    the    telegram.     He 
studies  it  very  carefully. 

Ion  said  anything? 

ROSIE.     Ion!    He's  done  nothing  all  afternoon,  but 
sing  silly  songs  and  rave  about  the  moon. 

BASIL      (slowly).  Singing  again,  is  he?    What's  he 
up  to  now? 

LEGGE.    Picking  figs. 

This  interests  BASIL.    He  glances  up  at 
the  villa:  then  returns  the  telegram. 

[51] 


THE   RIB   OF  THE   MAN 

BASIL.  Thanks.  Let  me  see,  Diana's  been  gone 
three  years.  She  skid  addled  just  .  .  . 

ROSIE      (bridling).  Just  before  my  marriage! 

BASIL.  We're  both  egotists,  Mrs.  Fleming!  I  was 
about  to  say,  just  after  I  left  for  Central 
Africa. 

ROSIE.  I  really  don't  see  what  you  had  to  do  with 
her  going! 

BASIL.  That's  true.  We  were  great  enemies.  She 
never  did  love  soldiers. 

LEGGE.  Course,  I'm  only  recent!  Can't  pretend 
to  Martin's  footing  with  the  family !  Posi- 
tively first  time  I  heard  you  had  a  sister! 
But  if  she's  anything  like  you  .  .  . 

ROSIE.  But  she  isn't,  she  isn't!  There's  the 
tragedy!  That's  why  I  never  mentioned 
her.  Oh,  the  shame,  the  unutterable 
shame,  the  degradation! 

LEGGE.    I  say  though,  bit  thick!    Not  really! 

[52] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

ROSIE.  Absolutely!  I've  tried  to  hide  it  for  three 
long  miserable  years!  What's  the  use? 
Archie!  My  sister  is — Diana  Brand! 

LEGGE.  Diana  Brand!    Your  sister! 

BASIL.  Well,  what  the  everlasting  blazes,  if  she  is? 

ROSIE.  Captain  Martin! 

LEGGE.  Yes,  Martin! 

ROSIE.  Is  it  possible,  you  never  heard? 

LEGGE.  Did  you  never  read  the  newspapers? 

BASIL.  How  could  I,  you  ass?  I  was  busy  dodg- 
ing lions  in  the  jungle. 

ROSIE.  Since  your  return!  Didn't  they  tell  you, 
oh  the  battlefield? 

BASIL.  How  could  they — Mrs.  Fleming?  I  was 
busy  dodging  shrapnel  in  the  welkin. 

LEGGE.    Don't  you  know  of  the  policemen? 

[S3] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 
ROSIE.     The  trial,  the  imprisonment? 

LEGGE.  The  things  she's  said,  the  things  she's 
done? 

ROSIE.     The  thing  she  is! 
BASIL.     Good  God,  no!    What? 

-  (together).  A  suffragette!] 
L/EGGE 

BASIL  takes  this  very  quietly. 

BASIL.  Good  old  Diana !  Down  to  bed-rock  mili- 
tancy at  last.  Of  course,  I  knew  her  in- 
terest in  the  movement,  but — Policemen! 

Tell   me,  when    did    this — terrible    pos- 
session first  afflict  her? 

ROSIE.  There's  the  mystery! — The  very  moment  I 
announced  my  engagement.  Jealousy,  I 
suppose!  After  all,  with  so  few  men  to  go 
round,  there  must  be  some  old  maids,  and 
why  not  Diana?  So  selfish!  But  there 
she  was!  Bounced  out  of  the  house — 
Hadn't  even  the  decency  to  wait  for  the 
154) 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

wedding! — and  began  rampaging  at  once, 
all  over  the  world. 

BASIL.     Humph! 

LEGGE.  Votes  for  Women,  don't  you  know.  All 
that  tosh! 

BASIL.     Ah! 

ROSIE.  Heaven  knows,  I'm  not  one  to  speak  ill  of 
the  dead;  but  poor  dear  Papa  was  so 
foolish!  Taught  her  Greek  and  gadding 
about  and  all  kinds  of  unwomanly  things. 
Why,  she'd  even  go  digging  with  him  and 
David  and  the  men!  Improper,  I  call  it! 
No  wonder  she  couldn't  get  a  husband! 
And  her  dress!  .  .  .  Well! — practically 
trousers!  I  suppose  that's  how  it  all 
began. 

BASIL.  Yes,  I  see  the  trousers!  And  there  was 
that  jolly  Greek  thing  she  wore  in  the 
afternoon.  Blue,  I  remember,  like  her 
eyes!  It  would  be  just  about  this  time. 
The  day's  digging  was  over,  and  she'd  trot 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

upstairs  to  change.  Then  presently,  we'd 
hear  the  beautiful  Hymn  to  Aphrodite — 
Sappho's  very  own,  to  Brahms'  music! 
And  that  was  the  signal  for  Ion,  with  figs 
from  the  garden. 

LEGGE.    My  word!     Poetical! 

BASIL.     Why  not?     Diana's  a  pretty  fine  woman. 

LEGGE     (interested).  No — really? 

BASIL.  Oh,  quite!  Only — Legge!  It  isn't  safe  to 
tell  her  so,  until  you  know  her  a  bit! 

ROSIE.  Everyone  to  his  taste,  Captain  Martin! 
I  hope  you  won't  be  disappointed  this  time 
tomorrow,  when  Diana  comes  swaggering 
out  here  in  knickerbockers! 

BASIL.     Mrs.  Fleming,  I'd  endure  her  in  a  fillibeg! 

The  voices  of  DAVID  FLEMING  and 
PROUT  are  heard  in  the  cellar. 

DAVID.    What  the  Hades!  .  .  . 

[56] 


THE   RIB  OF  THE   MAN 
ROSIE.     That's  David! 

PROUT.  Don't  apologize,  sir!  Step  right  over  me! 
Simply  a  little  enquiry  into  the  ways  of  a 
worm! 

DAVID.    Wriggling  down  there  on  your  stomach! 

And  he  emerges  in  muddy  khaki  and 
gaiters,  bearing  a  pickaxe.  He  is 
a  handsome,  irritable-looking  man, 
moustached,  with  imperious  eyes. 

Well,  another  prodigious  victory !  Something 
to  make  old  Evans  and  the  whole  cabal  of 
them  turn  green  with  envy!  Guess  what  I've 
struck!  A  regular  crockery  shop !  Minoan 
goddesses  by  the  score !  And  a  bull  to  ... 

RosiE.  David,  this  is  no  time  for  archaeological 
disquisitions !  I  have  something  awful  to  tell 
you!  How  shall  I  begin?  It's  tomorrow! 
Tomorrow  afternoon,  at  this  very  hour  .  .  . 

A  woman  s  voice  floats  out  from  the 
villa,  singing  the  Hymn  to  Aphro- 
dite. They  all  stand  spellbound. 

[57] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 
DAVID.    My  God! 

And  a  moment  later,  collects  himself. 
LEGGE.    How  ripping!    Who  is  it? 

Nobody  answers.  The  voice  comes 
nearer. 

Ton  my  word,  that's  what  I  call  .  .  . 

He  mounts  the  terrace,  craning  his 
neck  towards  the  sound. 

ION  enters  with  the  basket  of  figs. 

ION.  The  fig,  they  are  gathered;  the  clouds,  they 
are  passing  away;  the  moon,  she  is  rising! 
Diana!  Diana!  My  Beautiful  Moon! 

And  DIANA  BRAND  steps  from  the 
loggia.  She  is  dressed  in  a  classic 
chiton  of  delicate  blue.  Her  song 
breaks  off. 

DIANA.  Of  all  the  glorious  surprises!  Back  al- 
ready! Ion  said,  not  till  six! 

[58] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 
ROSIE.     Ion!  .  .  . 

DIANA  runs  down  the  stairway,  and 
clasps  ROSIE  to  her  hearty  half 
weeping. 

DIANA.    Rosie,   darling!     Oh,   my  dear,  my  dear, 
I've  been  a  devil  to  you! 

ROSIE.     Ion  said!  .  .  . 

DIANA.    Why,  it's  quite  a  party!     Splendid!    And 
where  is.  ...  Oh! 

DAVID  is  by  the  cellar.  She  faces 
him. 

DAVID     (gruffly).  Well,  Diana!    Good  crossing? 

DIANA.    Excellent,  thank  you,  David.     Bit  choppy, 
this  end. 

DAVID.    Ah! 

DIANA.    And  upon  my  word,  the  bitter  enemy  of 
my    youth!    This    is    a    reunion!    What 
[S9l 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

quarrels    we    shall    have!     Still    fighting, 
Basil? 

He  is  by  the  garden.    They  join  hands. 
BASIL.     Not  this  moment,  Diana.     And  you? 

DIANA.    Oh,  you  poor  dear,  I  didn't.  *.  .  .  Anything 

very  .  .  . 

- 

BASIL.     Just  a  fall. 

DIANA.    You  mean  .  .  . 

BASIL.     Yes:  like  Lucifer's.    And  you? 

He  watches  her  whimsically,  as  she 
turns  to  ION. 

DIANA.    And  Ion  with  the  figs!    I  knew  you  would! 
Ion,  you  darling,  I  must  kiss  you! 


ION.        Yes! 


ROSIE,  disgusted,  joins  LEGGE.    At 
the   same   time,    PROUT   pops   out 
from  the  cellar. 
F6ol 


THE    RIB    OF    THE   MAN 

PROUT.  Peculiar  thing;  but  love  among  the 
worms  .  .  . 

He  observes  the  kiss. 
Oh! 

And  so  back  into  his  hole. 

ION.         (off ering  the  figs) .  So! 

DIANA.  Oh!  Ta  sukobasileia!  And  sweet! — Um! 
.  .  .  Melichrotes!  Ambrosia!*  .  .  . 

Ion,  you  bad  old  man!     These  figs  .  .  . 
Ah!    The  Tree  You  Must  Not  Pick! 

ION.  That  is  just  how  you  go  too  smart!  Mr. 
Fleming,  he  will  know  the  tree  I  pick  for 
these!  .  .  . 

DAVID  moves  involuntarily. 

The  tree,  you  plant  together,  the  Day  of 
the  Altar! 

*Ta  <rvicoj3a<7i\«a,  the  figs  royal. 
,  sweetness  of  honey. 
ia,  ambrosia,  food  of  gods. 

[61] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

DAVID.  Day  of  the.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes,  perhaps  there 
was  some  little  ceremony,  some — tree  .  .  . 

DIANA  (with  quiet  irony).  I  too  dimly  remember 
some — altar. 

ION.  That  is  so.  He  dig,  you  plant:  you  make 
a  dance  about  it  and  a  song  for  Aphrodita! 
Then  you  tell  me:  Go  away,  bad  scamp! 
This  tree,  it  is  not  forbid!  It  is  ever  and  for 
always  our  tree:  the  Tree  of  Life!  So! 

If  required,  the  CURTAIN  may  aescend 
at  this  point. 


END  OF  THE   FIRST  ACT 


THE  SECOND  ACT 

FIG-LEAVES 


THE  SECOND  ACT 

The  Scene  and  the  Situation  remain  unchanged: 
ROSIE  and  LEGGE,  up  on  the  terrace;  BASIL  and  ION, 
by  the  garden;  DAVID  in  the  doorway.  DIANA  stands 
by  the  altar.  After  a  moment  of  embarrassment,  she 
speaks; 

DIANA.    Won't  somebody  have  a  fig?    Rosie?  .  .  . 

The  offer  brings  that  lady  flouncing 
down  from  the  terrace. 

ROSIE.  Certainly  not!  I'm  far  too  vexed  to  do 
anything  so  indecently  irrelevant!  What 
was  that  just  now  about  Ion? 

DIANA.    Was  there  anything  just  now  about  Ion? 

ROSIE.  What's  the  use  of  pretending?  He  knew 
you  were  hiding  up  there  all  the  time. 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 
DIANA.    Hiding?     I  was  changing  my  clothes! 

ROSIE.  Clothes!  If  there's  one  thing  I  loathe,  it 
is  hypocrisy!  If  people  must  flop  down 
upon  you  unexpectedly,  they — they  ought 
to  prepare  you  beforehand. 

DIANA.  But  my  own  dear  disagreeable  darling,  you 
knew!  My  telegram  distinctly  .  .  . 

ROSIE.    Telegram!  .  .  . 

It  is  still  in  her  hand.     She  reads; 
"Arriving  five  tomorrow." 
DIANA     (brightly).  Exactly!    Meaning  today. 

ROSIE.  Tomorrow  meaning  today!  My  dear,  it's 
too  transparent!  And  to  think  of  that 
deceitful  old  sneak  being  in  it  too!  A 
secret  like  you  over  our  heads,  and  him 
plumping  down  there  the  whole  blessed 
afternoon,  like  an  evil-minded  uncommuni- 
cative oyster! 

DIANA.    Ion!  .  .  . 

Both  women  are  now  focussing  him. 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

ION.  Now  I  think  I  go  and  rake  my  rose-bed. 
That  boy,  he  tramp  it  down,  the — peri- 
winkle ! 

And  he  goes  off  pleasantly.     Singing. 

ROSIE.  There,  you  see!  Just  piggish  and  insolent, 
all  day  long!  I  wish  David  would  let  us 
leave  his  beastly  house !  Horrid  old  grave- 
yard! 

DAVID  (testily).  My  dear,  you  know  very  well, 
with  this  infernal  lease  on  our  hands  .  .  . 

ROSIE.     Other  people  can  arrange  leases.  Archie  can ! 
DAVID.    Well,  I  can't!    Other  people  be  ... 

ROSIE.  You  could,  if  you  would;  but  you  won't! 
Just  on  purpose  to  annoy  me !  Lot  of  ugly 
marble!  And  then  you  to  turn  up  sud- 
denly, startling  the  life  out  of  me!  It's 
all  so  inconsiderate! 

DIANA.  Well,  but  Rosie,  sweetheart,  I  have  owned 
up  I'm  a  devil!  I  can't  do  more,  now  can 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

I,  unless  I  throw  in  adjectives;    and  you 
know  that  isn't  nice! 

ROSIE.  It's  not  even  as  if  I'd  had  any  tea!  I 
come  home  tired  and  miserable  .  .  . 

DAVID.    Oh,  for  Heaven's  sake,  Rosie. 

BASIL  tries  to  be  diplomatic  and  go; 
BASIL.     I  say,  Legge,  perhaps  we'd  better  .  .  . 

But  he  gets  jumped  on  for  his  pains; 

DAVID.  Certainly  not!  I  shall  deeply  resent  any 
such  consideration  for  her  feelings !  Simply 
hysteria! 

ROSIE.  Nobody  need  go  because  of  me!  Lord 
knows  /  don't  want  to  break  up  the  happy 
party!  I'm  cross;  and  I  don't  mind  the 
whole  world  knowing!  I've  had  nothing 
but  one  exasperation  after  another,  all  day! 

DIANA  is  going  to  end  this.     She  takes 
ROSIE,  and  with  maternal  hand  plants 
her  firmly  on  the  bench  to  the  left. 
[681 


THE    RIB    OF    THE    MAN 

DIANA.  Rosie,  you  naughty  child!  Now  sit  down 
and  behave,  do  you  hear?  You  mustn't 
fly  off  into  tantrums  for  nothing.  It  isn't 
good  for  you. 

DAVID.  It's  this  —  turkey- trotting!  Thing,  my 
mother  never  even  heard  of!  Goes  out 
simulating  frenzied  fowl!  Then  comes  home 
like  this! 

DIANA     (thoughtfully).  I  see!  ... 
ROSIE      (sniffling).  Didn't  turkey-trot! 

DIANA.  Didn't  she  then!  Never  mind,  dearie,  it's 
all  right! 

And  with  sudden  impulse ',she  hugs  her. 
ROSIE.     Poky  old  place! 

She  regards  her  booty  prodding  the  toe 
with  her  parasol,  and  from  time  to 
time  continues  sniffling. 

DIANA.  But  come,  don't  let  me  keep  you  polite 
old  things  standing.  Basil!  David! — Oh 

[69] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

well,  you  always  did  like  strutting  in  uni- 
form! Me,  I'll  take  my  ancient  place  in 
the  lap  of  my  Lady  Mother. 

She  sits  on  ike  altar  and  helps  herself 
to  a  fig.  BASIL  takes  ike  bench, 
right.  LEGGE  already  occupies  the 
top  step  of  the  terrace.  DAVID, 
having  made  a  movement  towards 
ROSIE'S  bench,  elects  to  stand. 

That's  the  ticket!  Now  we're  all  comfy! 
Glad  to  see  me,  David? 

DAVID      (shortly).  Course!    Why  not? 

DIANA.    Like  old  times,  isn't  it:    me  perched  up 
here? 

BASIL.     Yes,  and  by  Jove,  doesn't  it  do  the  eyes 
good! 

DIANA.    A-ha!     An    unexpected    salute    from    the 
enemy! 

And  the  tears  come  involuntarily. 

[TO] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

BASIL.  Yes,  you  don't  deserve  it! — Same  old  ter- 
magant, I  perceive!  But  you  look  stun- 
ning! Doesn't  she,  David? 

DAVID.    Course! 

ROSIE  looks  round  at  her  and  sniffs. 

DIANA.  Thanks,  Rosie,  darling!  Oh,  but  I  tell 
you,  it's  good  to  be  back!  I  was  beginning 
to  doubt  I  should  ever  behold  my  beloved 
island  again!  Naturally,  the  poor  Dad's 
death  and  ail  the  memories.  .  .  .  Then,  the 
War  yonder  and  before  that,  the  Move- 
ment. .  .  .  And  now  suddenly  this  call  from 
Ion — nay,  not  Ion — God! — And  here  I  am! 
Here  in  the  wine-dark  midmost  of  my  glori- 
ous passionate  ^Egean !  Here  on  my  island, 
my  little  jewel  of  an  island!  Oh!  The 
very  whiff  of  the  air,  the  wind,  the  goodly 
blast  of  it  intoxicates  me!  It  began  yes- 
terday, the  moment  I  left  the  Piraeus.  The 
whole  of  the  way  across,  I  felt  it.  My 
island,  oh,  my  precious  island,  how  I  have 
agonized  for  you! — And  now  at  last — 
H eureka!  You  can't  dream,  Basil — you 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

never  had  it:  you  can't,  David,  you  never 
lost  it:  what  it  means  to  me!  This  gor- 
geous sea,  the  flame,  the  wonder,  the 
miraculous  clutch  of  it!  Oh,  thank  God 
for  Greece,  her  blessed  islands,  her  seas, 
her  skies,  the  never-ending  loveliness  of  all 
good  Greek  things!  I  thought  I  had  lost 
them!  I  thought  I  had  put  the  joy  and 
the  love  of  them  away  from  me  forever! 
And  they're  flocking  back  again!  They 
are  here!  Like  children!  Like  my  very 
own!  Here!  Knocking  at  the  doors  of 
my  heart! 

She  pauses ',  mingling  tears  and  figs. 
The  silence  is  broken  by  an  appre- 
ciation from  ARCHIE  ; 

LEGGE.    I  say  though,  ripping! 

DIANA.  I  am  a  fool,  flying  off  into  long-winded 
dithyrambs  like  this!  Only  people  always 
do,  when  they  get  excited!  You  see,  I've 
been  so  used  to — to  speaking,  the  last 
three  years:  the  moment  I'm  properly 
wound  up,  instead  of  keeping  silent  about 

[72] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

it,  I.  ...  I  just  get  up  and — and  make  a 
speech ! 

And  she  takes  a  miserable  little  bite 
at  a  fig. 

BASIL.  Do  it  again,  old  girl:  we  like  it!  You're 
funny ! 

DIANA  (brightening).  You  wretch,  how  I  loathe 
you! 

BASIL.  Well,  I  never  did  have  any  luck  with  you> 
Di! 

DIANA     (flaring).  If  you  dare  tocall  me  Di,  again! . . . 

BASIL.  There's  the  girl  I  love!  Same  old  quarrel- 
some spitfire!  And  —  Diana!  Militancy 
hasn't  thwarted  your  flirtatious  wiles,  ap- 
parently! Still  sporting  the  feminine  lure! 

DIANA.  Rosie,  he's  insulting  my  gown !  He's  known 
me  so  long  as  a  navvy,  whenever  I  dress 
decently,  he  begins  ragging  me!  I  suppose 
he's  making  your  life  a  misery,  these  days. 

[73] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

<r 

Why  we  ever  endure  him,  I  don't  know:  un- 
less it's  just  silly  woman's  weakness  for  the 
army.  What  do  you  do  with  him,  Rosie? 

ROSIE  (sniffling).  Don't  do  anything!  He's  al- 
ways digging  with  David!  Desolate  old 
wilderness ! 

DAVID    makes    a    movement    of   im- 
patience. 

BASIL.  Anyway,  Diana,  suspending  hostilities  for 
the  nonce,  I  will  confess  you've  done 
yourself  proud!  Isn't  that  right,  David? 
David!  .  .  . 

DAVID.  Proud,  of  course,  yes.  Only,  proud  isn't 
the  word. 

ROSIE  registers  both  appreciations. 

BASIL.  Spoken  like  a  scholar:  it  isn't.  There's 
only  one  word  for  it!  Sorry  it's  not  Greek, 
Diana;  but  you  look — peachy! 

Before    DIANA    can    immolate    him9 
ARCHIE  has  another  inspiration; 
[741 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 
LEGGE.    And  so  say  all  of  us!     Haw!  .  .  . 

BASIL  (sotto  voce).  Oh,  my  Lord,  what  have  I 
done  ? 

And  ARCHIE    doddles   down   to   the 
altar. 

LEGGE.  Positively,  had  the  word  on  the  tip  of  my 
tongue;  and  then  let  Martin  chip  in  first. 
Peachy!  That's  the  idea!  Haw!  .  .  . 

I  say,  oughtn't  somebody  to  introduce 
me? — You  don't  know  who  I  am.  (Wag- 
gishly). Course,  we  all  know  about  you! 
Haw! 

DIANA.    No,  really!    How  encouraging! 

LEGGE.  Fact,  I  assure  you!  All  those  policemen, 
what!  And  the  magistrate  Johnnies! 

DIANA.    Ah,  yes,  the  Johnnies! 

LEGGE.  Bit  thick;  but  must  have  been  awfully 
jolly,  looking  on.  Forcible  feeding,  what! 
Haw! 

1751 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

Hello,    Rosie,   pip-pip    with    that    intro- 
duction. 


DIANA.  Is  that  necessary?  Aren't  we  already  so 
familiar,  that  .  .  . 

LEGGE.  Haw,  get  you!  These  strange  sweet  in- 
timacies, what!  .  .  . 

This  brings  ROSIE  to  her  feet  at  once. 

ROSIE.  It's  Archie  Legge.  My  sister,  Diana  Brand! 
My  elder  sister. 

DIANA.  Come  now,  Rosie,  you  needn't  rub  in  the 
age!  I'm  only  thirty. 

LEGGE.  Really!  Don't  look  it,  I'll  swear!  Ton 
my  word,  if  you'd  asked  me,  I'd  have  said 
something  more  like — like  .  .  . 

DIANA.  Something  perfectly  sweet  and  ingenuous 
like  fifteen,  I'm  sure.  Wont  you  sit  down? 

LEGGE.  Here  at  your  feet? — Rather!  Like  a  piece 
of  statuary:  you  above,  me  below;  Beauty 

[76] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

and  the  Beast,  don't  you  know!  (To 
BASIL).  What  about  it  now,  old  chap? 
Haw!  .  .  . 

His  glee  withers  beneath  ROSIE'S  eye. 
Course,  I  mean — I'm  the  Beast. 

DIANA.    Thanks,  you  are  very  comforting.     May  I 
offer  you  a  fig? 

LEGGE.    Say  though  really,  you're  a  sport,  if  you 
are  Diana  Brand. 

DIANA.    So  glad,  I'm  satisfactory.     Have  another. 
He  takes  three  and  ruminates  awhile. 
Our  own  planting,  David!    Catch!  .  .  . 
DAVID.    Nonsense,  no!    I'm  not  a  little  boy! 

And  he  comes  with  great  dignity  and 
takes  the  fig,  like  a  man.     He  then 
sinks    meditatively    to    the    left    of 
ARCHIE. 
[77] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 
DIANA.    Enemy!  .  .  . 

BASIL.       That's  me.     Where's  the  juiciest? 

He  rises  and  takes  his  pick:    then, 
looking  round  maliciously,  says; 

Hm!    Think  I'll  be  statuary  too! 

He  sits  the  other  side  of  ARCHIE. 
ROSIE,  isolated,  scans  the  group  and 
sniffles.  Meanwhile,  ARCHIE'S  ru- 
minations have  come  to  an  end. 

LEGGE.  Course,  I'm  not  one  myself.  Georgina  is. 
She's  everything — Socialism,  New  Thought, 
Rational  Togs,  all  that  rot.  My  idea  is 
this.  I  like  woman  to  be  a  woman.  Give 
me  woman  on  the  pedestal:  woman,  the 
good  sport,  preserving  the  respect  of  man. 
Properly  speaking,  I  represent  the  Antis. 
The  Home,  Darning,  Dinner,  Babies — all 
that  kind  of  thing!  Something  beautiful 
about  that,  poetical,  what! 

The  thought  makes  him  blink  a  little. 
[78] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

Course,  I  like  woman  to  be  friendly.  But 
what  I  say  is,  Honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pense! 
So  you  see!  There!  In  a  nutshell!  .  .  . 
Get  me? 

DIANA.    I  never  heard  the  case  put  better. 

LEGGE.  Haw!  How's  that,  Mr.  Battered  Hero? 
Always  did  like  blue!  .  .  . 

ROSIE'S  sniffling  becomes  a  downright 
whimper. 

DIANA.  Why,  you  poor  lonely  mite!  Never  mind! 
She  shall  have  a  nice  little  fig  all  to  herself, 
she  shall! 

She  goes  to  her.     The  men  rise. 

ROSIE.  I  won't,  I  won't!  I  hate,  I  loathe,  I 
abominate  figs! 

DIANA     (thoughtfully).  Oh!  ... 

Well  then,  she  shall  come  and  sit  on  the 
nice  comfortable  altar,  with  her  naughty 
old  sister! 
6  [79l 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

She  takes  her  there.  The  men  in- 
stantly drift  away:  BASIL  and 
DAVID,  to  the  benches  right  and  left 
espectively;  whilst  ARCHIE,  after 
spinning  once  round  like  a  dog, 
squats  in  the  middle  on  the  grass, 
facing  the  women.  ROSIE  mean- 
while weeps.  DIANA  pats  and  pets 
her,  mopping  her  eyes. 

There!    That  all  right? 

RosiE.  Nothing's  all  right!  Everything's  all  wrong! 
Everybody's  so  selfish! 

DAVID     (rising).  Oh,  my  .  .  . 

ROSIE.  It's  all  very  well,  saying,  Oh  my! — You've 
been  happy,  making  a  disgusting  mess  of 
yourself  all  day!  First  he  goes  neglecting 
me  for  a  lot  of  snake-goddesses  and  mud: 
then  he  comes  and  says,  Oh  my!  And  I've 
had  no  tea. 

DAVID.  Then  for  the  Lord's  dear  sake,  my  love, 
get  some  and  .  .  . 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

Hid  like  to  say,  "Choke  yourself!" 
but  daren't. 

Oh,  damn!    I'll  go  and  change  my  rags! 
And  he  gets  as  far  as  the  stairway. 

ROSIE.  There,  you  see!  Husbands  are  all  like 
that! 

DIANA.    David,  you  horrid  thing,  apologize! 

DAVID  (turning).  Well,  of  course,  I  apologize.  But 
she's  such  a  confounded  little  fool! 

And  he  commences  to  climb. 
BASIL      (grinning).  Poison  his  tea,  Mrs.  Fleming! 

LEGGE.  This  Johnny  here — book,  Rosie  gave  me — 
has  an  awfully  good  bit  about  neglectful 
husbands.  He  says:  The  charming  custom 

of  the  chimpanzee  .  .  . 

DAVID,  half-way  upstairs,  has  turned. 

DAVID.    Rosie  gave  you  a  thing  like  that? 

[81] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

LEGGE.    Yes,  bit  thick  wasn't  it?    The  woman  did 
tempt  me  and  I  did  .  .  . 
Ever  heard  of  it,  anybody? 

He  shews  the  title  with  generous  im- 
partiality all  round. 

DIANA.    Oh!     That  old  back  number! 

LEGGE.    What,    you    know    it?    Ton    my    word 
though,  you  and  Rosie  really  .  .  . 

ROSIE.     I've  never  even  looked  at  the  loathsome 
book! 

DIANA.    Haven't  you?    Oh,  /  have. 

ROSIE.     I  daresay  you  have.     But  if  Archie  says 
it's  improper,  I  haven't! 

DIANA.  Improper?  Nonsense!  Out  of  date,  if 
you  like.  Belongs  to  the  dark  ages  when 
people  honestly  believed  in  Science  and 
Mother  Nature!  Two  or  three  years  ago, 
you  know.  Before  the  Judgment:  before 
the  Great  Awakening!  To  that  pagan 
[82] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

over-fed  generation  of  prigs  and  pedants, 
Sex  was  the  one  obsession!  They  and  the 
little  whining  crowd  of  poets  and  self- 
indulgents  held  it  over  us  like  a  bludgeon! 
But  now,  real  live  men  and  women,  spirit- 
ual beings,  are  coming  back  into  the  world! 
Improper!  Nothing  so  fascinating,  Rosie, 
darling!  Just  funny  and  old-fashioned, 
that's  all:  like  anti-suffragism ! 

ROSIE.  I  think  Archie  ought  to  know  what's  im- 
proper better  than  you!  At  least,  I  hope 
so.  He's  a  man. 

DIANA     (amused).  Perhaps  you're  right,  Rosie. 

LEGGE.  Well,  I  don't  go  so  far  as  to  say  improper. 
Wouldn't  like  to  say  that  about  anything. 
I  just  say — sporty! 

ROSIE      (snapping).  I  call  it  disgusting! 

DIANA.    Idiotic's  my  adjective!    I'll  stick  by  that. 

BASIL.     Piffle's  a  good  word. 

[83] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

DAVID.  What  is  the  filthy  work,  anyway?  I  can't 
read  a  mile  off!  Name  the  unmitigated 
muck! 

They  all  do,  together. 
OMNES.  PROUT  ON  SEX! 

An  avalanche  of  pans  and  crockery 
occurs  in  the  cellar.  A  watering- 
pot  flies  wildly  forth  of  the  door. 
All  turn,  DAVID  descending  a  step. 

DAVID.    What  in  the  name  of  Satanas  .  .  . 

There  is  a  general  movement  of  en- 
quiry. 

ROSIE.  Stop!  If  you  do  anything  about  it,  I'll 
scream!  You'll  only  bring  him  back  again, 
and  we'll  never  be  rid  of  him! 

DIANA.    Whom? 

ROSIE.  Archie  knows.  He's  hunting  for  worms! 
It's  the  author,  and  he'll  clatter  our  heads 
off! 

[84] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

DAVID.  I'll  soon  see  whether  any  authors  will 
clatter  my  head  off! 

ROSIE.     Stop  him,  somebody!     I'll  scream! 
DIANA.    David,  you're  exciting  her!    David! 

DAVID.  Oh,  well,  if  you're  all  bent  on  humouring 
her!  .  .  .  Only,  it's  such  darnation  foolery! 
Talking  to  me  about  authors!  .  .  . 

He  sulks.  DIANA  looks  like  a  snubbed 
naughty  child.  An  embarrassing 
pause. 

Come  to  that,  I'm  one  myself!    You  don't 
find  me  clattering!    Hysteria!  .  .  . 

DIANA  tries  to  make  things  gay  again; 

DIANA.  That  reminds  me!  Talking  of  authors,  what 
a  pig,  I  am!  How  about  the  book,  David? 

DAVID.    Book!    What  book? 

DIANA.  Why,  ours,  of  course!  My  father's!  The 
book  about  the  altar! 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 
ROSIE.     Of  all  the  cheek!  That's  our  book!  David's! 

DIANA.  Weil,  call  it  David's,  if  you  like,  little 
jealousy!  He  wrote  it,  I  admit.  Already 
published,  David? 

DAVID  (nettled).  Published!  Merely  a  matter  of 
some  fifty  thousand  copies  or  so!  I  sup- 
pose you  do  mean  my.  .  .  .  THE  RIB? 

DIANA.    The — what? 
DAVID     (tartly).  RIB! 

DIANA  (disappointed).  Oh!  Is  that  what  you  called 
it? 

DAVID     (warmly).  And  if  I  did!    Why  not? 

DIANA  (warmer).  Why  not!  Only  that  I  think 
perhaps  the  poor  Dad's  own  title — es- 
pecially in  view  of  the  idea  of  the  book,  the 
significance  he.  ...  Besides,  you  had  all 
his  papers. 

DAVID.    That's  all  very  well,  Diana;  but  since  your 
father's  death,  his  theories  .  .  . 
[86) 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 
DIANA.    Theories! 

DAVID.  Well,  you  know  what  I  mean!  In  spite  of 
this  pretended  ignorance,  you  did  see  the 
book,  I  presume? 

DIANA  (shortly).  No!  I've  read  nothing  Greek 
for  three  years! 

DAVID.  Oh  well,  if  you  weren't  even  interested! 
It  made  noise  enough  in  all  conscience! 

DIANA.  Well,  it  was  bound  to  do  that!  Its  appeal 
to  the  Movement  would  at  least  ensure 
that!  If  I  hadn't  been  so  busy  elsewhere, 
I  myself  even  .  .  . 

DAVID.  Movement!  You  talk  about  Movement! 
What  Movement? 

DIANA.  What  Movement!  Yours,  mine,  my 
father's!  The  Movement  to  which  we 
pledged  ourselves!  The  Woman's  Move- 
ment! That  was  the  book's  strong  point 
— the  modern  application,  the  significance! 
It  was  the  meaning  of  this  altar.  You 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

don't  think  my  father  spent  his  glorious 
life  delving  into  the  mysteries  of  these 
islands,  in  order  to  provide  lying  little  text- 
books for  universities,  do  you? 

DAVID.    Well,  what  was  his  wonderful  discovery, 
all  said  and  done? 


DIANA.  The  Primaeval  Matriarchy!  The  dawn  of 
the  world  when  God  Himself  was  Woman! 
Something  to  give  to  Feminism  the  au- 
thority of  the  ages!  It  was  no  mere  New 
Woman,  my  father  found!  His  was  the 
Ancient  Woman  rising  from  the  dead! 
That  was  something  worth  writing  about! 
The  very  scholars  couldn't  kill  an  idea  like 
that!  It  put  the  book  beyond  their  blind 
stupidity  and  blasphemy  forever!  Even 
your  fool  of  a  title  couldn't  alter  that! 
Could  it?  ...  Did  it? 

DAVID.    Of  course,  if  you  want  to  be  personal  .  .  . 

DIANA.  Personal!  Do  you  think  I'm  considering 
you?  Answer  my  question! 

[881 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 
DAVID.    What  question? 

DIANA.    Do  you  wish  me  to  say  it  all  over  again  ? 

DAVID  (spluttering).  We'll  have  to  go  into  that, 
some  other  time,  when  I — when  I'm  prop- 
erly dressed!  Upon  my  word,  what  with 
one  thing  and  another!  And  now  that 
noisy  devil  in  the  cellar  come  to  plague  me! 
Exploded  theories!  Feminism!  Hysteria! 

And  he  disappears  grumbling  up  the 
stairway  into  the  villa. 

DIANA  has  risen,  tense  with  emotion. 

DIANA.  It  all  seems  so — disloyal!  His  own  title! 
And  his  poor  dying  wishes — all  .  .  . 

With  a  swift  movement,  she  turns  her 
back  and  goes  up  to  the  terrace. 
She  stands  looking  bitterly  over  the 
sea. 

ROSIE  (to  the  men).  There,  you  see!  She's  just 
like  that!  Always! 

[89] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 
LEGGE.    Really! 

ROSIE.  Absolutely!  You  see,  she'll  make  a  speech 
presently! 

DIANA.  Oh,  why  didn't  I  know,  why  didn't  I 
know! 

ROSIE.  Well,  my  dear,  if  it's  the  book  you're  still 
fussing  about,  it's  been  advertised  enough! 

DIANA     (flashing  round).  Advertised! 

ROSIE.  Well,  don't  get  violent!  Only,  you  who 
always  pretended  to  be  so  interested  in 
everything  Greek  .  .  . 

DIANA.  How  could  I  ?  I've  been  slaving  night  and 
day  at  the  Front  ever  since  the  war  began; 
and  before  that  I  was  in  prison! 

ROSIE.     Prison!    She  brags  about  it!    Prison! 
BASIL.     At  the  Front!    Do  you  mean — Red  Cross? 

DIANA.    What  do  you  imagine?    Murdering? 

[90] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

LEGGE.  Red  Cross,  how  jolly!  Tell  us  all  about 
the  war! 

She  blasts  him  with  a  look. 
ROSIE.     Prison! 

DIANA.  Yes,  prison,  prison,  didn't  you  hear? 
Heaven  knows,  that  was  advertised  widely 
enough ! 

ROSIE.     But  you  seem  proud  of  it! 

DIANA.    Wouldn't  you  be?    It  was  for  the  Cause! 

ROSIE.  Proud  of  being  imprisoned  for  biting  a 
policeman ! 

DIANA  (fiercely).  That's  a  lie!  I  never  bit  any- 
body ! 

ROSIE.     Votes  for  Women  then!    Same  thing! 

DIANA.  Why,  of  course,  I'm  proud  of  it,  you  little 
timid  silly!  It  shewed  God  thought  me 
worthy!  Isn't  Christendom  proud  of  the 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

Lord  Jesus  being  haled  before  Pontius 
Pilate,  and  mocked  and  spat  upon  and  gib- 
betted  like  a  dog?  It's  the  same  with  all 
of  us!  Saints,  Artists,  Socialists,  Philoso- 
phers, the  glorious  company  of  Martyrs 
and  Believers,  everywhere!  Persecution! 
Scorn!  Contempt!  That's  only  the  bitter 
witness  of  this  world  to  the  truth  of  the 
terrible  witness  burning  within  ourselves! 
You  don't  suppose  that  Kings  and  Cabinet 
Ministers  and  the  Titled  Scum  that  pan- 
der to  their  lusts  in  newspapers  are  going 
to  stand  the  flaming  blasphemies  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  do  you  ?  Any  more  than  they 
did  in  old  Jerusalem!  Or  in  the  days  of 
Socrates!  Or  at  the  Reformation!  Proud 
of  it!  Of  course,  I'm  proud  of  it!  It  links 
me  up  with  Christ. 

ROSIE.     Did  you  ever  hear  anything  so  outrageous? 
BASIL.     Never!    Never!    Except  in  the  Bible! 
ROSIE.     Captain  Martin! 

LEGGE,    Yes,  I  say,  Martin! 

[92] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

BASIL  is  the  picture  of  gleeful  im- 
becility. 

BASIL.  Yes!  Now  I  think  I'll  go  and  help  Ion 
rake  that  rose-bed!  Unless,  Diana,  an- 
other little  speech  from  you  .  .  . 

Ah!     Come    along,    Legge!     Something 
tells  me  we  are  no  longer  wanted  here. 

LEGGE.  Eh?  What!  I  will!  Bone  to  pick  with 
you !  After  all,  playing  the  game,  old  man : 
playing  the  game!  If  you  are  a  soldier! 

They  go  off  arguing  into  the  garden. 
The  name  "Polly"  is  heard  echoing 
in  the  distance. 

DIANA  stands  in  proud  indecision  for 
a  moment.  Then  she  rushes  down 
to  the  altar  impetuously,  pauses, 
and  suddenly  crumples  up  at  the 
feet  of  ROSIE. 

DIANA.    Rosie,  darling,  forgive  me,  forgive  me!    I 

didn't  mean  to  be  unkind  to  you:   indeed, 

indeed,  I  didn't!     Especially  now!     Now, 

of  all  times!     It's  my  beastly  temper!    My 

[93] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

ungovernable  tongue!  God  help  me,  I.  ... 
Oh,  I  am  so  unhappy!  Why  can't  I  be 
like  other  people? 

ROSIE  (sadly).  You  could  be,  Diana,  if  you'd  only 
try!  It's  really  quite  easy.  But  you  don't  try. 

DIANA  (flaring  again).  I  do  try!  I'm  trying  all 
the  time!  My  life  is  one  long  agony  of 
trying!  How  dare  you  say,  I  don't?  You 
say  everything  you  can  to — to  .  .  . 

I  came  here,  nothing  but  love  and  for- 
giveness in  my  heart,  putting  away  all 
bitterness  from  me:  not  meaning  to  re- 
member—  anything!  I  wanted  only  to 
think  of  you!  I  wanted  only  to  think  of 
the  loveliness  of  it  all!  Of  the  wonderful 
beautiful  thing  that's  going  to  happen! 
And  then  every  single  one  of  you —  You, 
most  of  all!  ...  Why  will  you  be  such  a 
damned  little  lunatic?  Oh,  oh,  there  I  am 
again,  like  a ... 

ROSIE  (whimpering).  I'm  sure  I  do  everything 
woman  can,  to  make  myself  pleasant  to 
everybody ! 

[94] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 
DIANA.    I'm  a  beast,  I  know  that!     I'm  sorry! 

ROSIE.  Should  think  so!  Making  me  miserable! 
.  .  .  It's  so  easy  to  be  good  and  kind  to 
people!  Why  can't  people  be  good  and 
kind?  It's  the  little  things  that  count!  .  .  . 

DIANA.  Cry-babies,  both  of  us!  There,  mop  up, 
and  don't  be  an  idiot!  Silly  fools!  One 
thing  I  hate,  it  is  having  a  scene  like  this! 
We're  acting  like  a  couple  of — women! 
There!  Better?  .  .  . 

Now,  let's  talk  about — It! 

ROSIE.     It! ... 

DIANA.    Yes,  the  Secret. 

ROSIE.     Oh,  these  mysteries!    What  secret? 

DIANA.  Why,  the  Secret,  of  course!  The  Secret 
that  brought  me  back  again. 

ROSIE.  I  don't  know  of  any  secret  that  could  bring 
you  back  again! 

DIANA.    Rosie!    The  most  exquisite  secret  in  the 
world!    Imagine!    It  came  to  me  yonder 
7  [9Sl 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

— out  there  on  the  battlefield!  I  was  sick, 
I  was  weary,  I  was  worn  out  with  long 
bitter  watching  of  the  dead  and  dying! 
Oh,  that  sepulchre  of  horror!  And  then 
That  came!  It  was  like  a  blessed  resur- 
rection! That  message  of  New  Life  from 
Ion! 

ROSIE.     Ion! 

DIANA.  Yes,  he  heard  you  talking  about  it!  You 
and  David.  Down  there,  under  the  fig-tree. 

ROSIE.     Ion    heard?     But    he's    deaf!    He    never 
hears  a  single  ... 
Heard  what? 

DIANA.  Oh,  Rosie,  how  hard  you're  making  it  for 
me!  Here  am  I,  singing  you  my  little  song 
of  Elizabeth,  and  you  won't  understand ! 

ROSIE.  But  you're  frightening  me!  Tell  me  plain- 
ly what  you  mean. 

DIANA.    Darling,  whatever  could  I  mean  but  one 
thing?    The    holiest,    the    most    precious 
[96] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

thing  ever  dreamed  in  the  heart  of  woman. 
Motherhood,  I  mean!  I  mean — your  little 
unborn  baby! 

ROSIE.     Motherhood!    I! 
DIANA.    Rosie!    Rosie,  darling! 

ROSIE.  Stop!  Don't  touch  me!  It's  all  a  hide- 
ous mistake!  It's  not  true! 

DIANA.    Not  true! .  .  . 

ROSIE.  It's  that  evil  eavesdropping  old  devil! 
He's  got  everything  wrong! 

DIANA.    Not  true!  .  .  < 

ROSIE.  It's  true,  David  and  I  did  discuss.  .  .  . 
Intimately,  as  married  people  will.  ...  In 
fact,  we  quarrelled — violently!  Men  are 
so  selfish!  But  as  for  my  ever.  .  .  .  On 
the  contrary!  The  absolute  contrary! 

That's  why  we  quarrelled. 

I 

DIANA.  In  other  words,  you — repudiate — Mother- 
hood! 

[971 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

ROSIE.     I  don't  see  why  you  should  object!    I'm  a 
free  modern  woman!     In  that  at  least! 

DIANA     (slowly).  Yes,  I  think  I  begin  to  under- 
stand. 

ROSIE.     Let's  have  no  more  of  it!    It's  not  a  sub- 
ject .  .  . 

DIANA.    And  I  was  useful  yonder,  among  the  dead 
and  dying!  .  .  . 

ROSIE.     What  has  that  to  do  with  it? 

DIANA.    Only  that  I  need  not  have  come  here  after 
all! 

She  sits  looking  into  unseen  things. 

ION  enters  from  the  garden,  singing. 
Crossing  the  yard,  he  halts  with  glad 
surprise  at  the  watering-pot. 

ION.        Ah,  what  I  want!    Some  angel  drop  it  for 
me! 

A  rattling  comes  from  the  cellar. 

Yes! 

[98] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

He  makes  once  more  for  the  garden. 
ROSIE  follows  his  every  movement 
suspiciously.  She  now  calls  sharp- 


ROSIE.     Ion! 


A  whimsical  smile  creeps   over   his 
mouthy  as  he  turns  back. 


Are  you  deaf? 
ION.        No! 


And  he  passes  out9  a  thing  of  joy  and 
high  Greek  song. 

If  required,  the  CURTAIN  may  descend 
at  this  point. 


END   OF  THE    SECOND  ACT 


THE  THIRD  ACT 

THE  FLAMING  SWORD 


THE  THIRD  ACT 

The  Scene  and  the  Situation  remain  unchanged: 
ROSIE,  seated  on  the  altar:  DIANA,  lost  in  thought,  at 
her  feet  below.  ION'S  song  is  still  heard,  dying  away 
down  the  garden.  ROSIE  looks  after  him  bitterly. 

ROSIE.  And  that's  the  man,  my  poor  dear  dead 
Papa  trusted  so  blindly.  I  always  knew 
there  was  something  sly  about  him.  Only 
David  never  would  listen  to  me.  Men  are 
such  fools! 

DIANA  slightly  shifts  her  position,  but 
makes  no  other  comment. 

If  he  had,  we'd  have  been  gone  ages  ago. 
It's  not  even  as  if  there  were  any  real  con- 
venience. Granted,  there's  the  garden  and 
the  fruit  and  all  that;  but  Lord,  the  fuss, 
if  ever  anybody  wants  a  fig!  What  did  you 
do  with  them? 

[103] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

DIANA  hands  the  figs.     ROSIE  pokes 
among  them,  but  the  best  are  gone. 

Self,  that's  the  trouble !  Nothing  but  self, 
self,  self!  If  I've  spoken  once  about  that 
bath-room  door,  I  have  a  thousand  times! 
There  again! — Only  one  bath-room!  I've 
spoken  about  that  too.  Of  course,  the  sea 
is  pretty.  But  I  don't  like  sea.  Mother- 
hood, indeed!  What  did  he  say  precisely? 

DIANA.  Do  you  think  all  that  matters  very  much 
now? 

ROSIE.  Not  if  you  want  to  be  disagreeable,  dear. 
It  was  you  first  broached  the  indelicate 
subject. 

DIANA.    Sorry.     I'll  try  and  be  more — feminine. 

ROSIE.  You  needn't  air  any  of  your  superior  sar- 
castic speeches  on  me!  I'm  not  impressed 
like  some  people.  What's  more,  I  consider 
your  conversation  just  now  when  they  were 
here,  absolutely  immoral!  You  may  have 
thought  it  clever:  but  men  don't  really 
[104] 


THE    RIB   OF  THE   MAN 

admire    that    kind    of  woman.     They   de- 
spise them!     Oh,  how  they  despise  them! 

DIANA.  The  men!  Ah,  yes,  I  had  forgotten  the 
dear  men! 

ROSIE.  Well,  I  can't  answer  for  your  precious  Cap- 
tain Martin!  But  I'm  perfectly  certain 
Archie  .  .  . 

DIANA.    What!     Have  I  shocked  the  chaste  Archie? 

ROSIE.  You've  shocked  every  decent  man  among 
them! 

DIANA.  Yes,  how  many  might  that  amount  to  ex- 
actly, out  of  the  three? 

ROSIE.  You'll  soon  see  how  many!  They  won't 
stand  any  of  your  wickedness!  Not  if 
they're  men!  Nor  your  Greek!  Nor  your 
gown!  Nor  God's  Name  taken  in  vain! 
They'll  hate  you  like  poison!  At  least 
they're  Christians! 

And   she    wails    miserably.     DIANA 
turns  upon  her  like  a  dragoness; 

1 105] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 
DIANA.    Stop  howling  you — Rib!  .  .  . 

The  effect  is  miraculous.     She  stops. 

LEGGE  and  BASIL  are  heard  approach- 
ing from  the  garden. 

Ah!...  Well  I'm  ripe  for  them! 

The  two  men  enter,  wrangling.    ROSIE 
breaks  into  a  beatific  smile. 

ROSIE      (sweetly).  So  you're  back  again! 

LEGGE.  Ton  my  word,  never  heard  such  a  bare- 
faced wriggler  in  my  life! 

BASIL.  Legge,  as  I'm  an  honest  worm,  you  wrong 
me! 

LEGGE.  Soon  know  about  that!  Rosie!  See  that 
whitened  what-d'ycm-call-it?  Nice  little 
surpliced  choir-boy,  he  is!  Flatly  denies 
ever  having  told  you  a  thing! 

BASIL.  I  warn  you,  Legge,  you  are  courting  hide- 
ous doom! 

[106] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 
LEGGE.    Did  you  or  did  you  not  deny  it? 

BASIL.     Did!    But  ... 

LEGGE.  Don't  wriggle!  That's  Martin  all  over! 
First  denies :  then  wriggles !  Hands  me  out 
a  rotten  old  homily  on  Woman's  Rights! 
Yes,  you  did:  out  there!  You're  no  sol- 
dier: you're  a  clergyman!  (Exploding). 
A  woman  like  Polly  has  no  rights! 

ROSIE.     Oh,  yes,  Polly!... 

LEGGE.    There,  that  shews!    Liar!    She  knows  all! 

BASIL  (grinning).  Legge,  if  you  call  me  a  liar 
again,  I'll  punch  your  head. 

ROSIE.     What  I  want  to  ... 

LEGGE.    One  moment,  Rosie!    I'll  settle  his  hash! 

ROSIE.     Yes,  but  is  this  Polly  person  .  .  . 

LEGGE     (testily).  Well,  we   all  know  about  that! 
Polly  is — Polly:  never  pretended  she  wasn't. 
[107] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

What's  done  can't  be  undone,  spilt  milk, 
it's  an  ill  wind,  awfully  sorry  and  all  that! 
But,  my  Lord,  if  you're  going  to  make  a 
political  question  out  of  Polly.  .  .  .  What 
do  you  say,  Miss  Brand? 

DIANA.  I  fear  I  don't  quite  fathom  Polly.  I  find 
her  so  far,  vague — though  suggestive. 

LEGGE.    Course,  I  forgot!    You  don't  know!    Haw! 

And  for   the   moment,   he  is   taken 
aback. 

DIANA.  I'm  sure,  you'll  be  sweet  enough  to  en- 
lighten me. 

LEGGE.  Well,  Polly.  .  .  .  Mixed  company,  what! 
However,  Modern  Thought,  don't  you 
know:  Plain  Speaking!  No  silly  shame 
necessary,  that  I  can  see! — All  cultivated 
people!  Rosie  knows,  we  know,  and  you've 
read  this  fellow!  So  there  you  are!  Nut- 
shell! Polly!  ...  Get  me? 

DIANA.    Ad  nauseam. 

[108] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 
LEGGE.    Quite  so!    Haw!  .  .  . 

He  pulls  at  his  moustache. 

Same  time,  there's  my  wife.  Georgina's 
all  right,  but  she's  one  of  these  good  wom- 
en, you  understand.  No  earthly  idea  of 
simple  unashamed  affection.  Man's  Life, 
don't  you  know,  Affinity,  Self-expression! — 
Means  nothing  to  her!  Deuce  of  a  row!  .  .  . 

Seems  to  me,  existence  is  one  long  wob- 
ble between  some  good  Bad  Woman  who 
treats  you — cordially,  and  some  bad  Good 
Woman  who  gives  you  a  bally  rotten  time! 
Nothing  personal,  of  course! 

DIANA.    Gratified,  I'm  sure! 

LEGGE.    But  for  that  holy-minded  baa-lamb  to  go 
about  blabbing  it  to  everybody  .  .  . 

DIANA.    Do  you  think,  perhaps,  he  may  be  a  trifle 
dense  ? 

LEGGE.    Jolly  well  positive!    Then  to  begin  preach- 
ing!    Him!    And  you  know  what  soldiers 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

are!    If  there's  one  thing  I  hate,  it  is  a 
moralizing  aviator! 

DIANA.    One  meets  so  many  of  them! 

LEGGE.  Better  begin  writing  tracts  at  once!  Wrap 
'em  up  in  sugar-paper  and  send  'em  to 
your  maiden  aunt!  Then  he  calls  himself 
an  officer  and  a  gentleman!  Hasn't  the 
sympathetic  instincts  of  a  salmon!  This 
Johnny  knows  more!  Lord,  I  could  laugh! 
Little  Polly  Froufrou,  a  plea  for  Woman's 
Rights! 

DIANA.  When  she  is  palpably  only  one  more  plea 
for  Woman's  everlasting  Wrongs! 

LEGGE.    Woman's  everlasting — what? 

DIANA     (fiercely).  Wrongs,  you  leper,  wrongs! 

ROSIE.     Diana! 

LEGGE.  Haw!  I  see! — It's  a  joke!  Woman's  Rights 
— Woman's  Wrongs!  Awfully  good!  Good 
enough  for  Life. 

[no] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

Same  time,  don't  let's  frivol!  Serious 
side  to  it,  after  all.  If  you  only  knew 
Georgina  .  .  . 

ROSIE.  Archie!  Archie!  Don't  you  understand? 
She  means  it!  She's  insulting  you! 

LEGGE.    Insulting  me! 

ROSIE.  Yes,  it's  what  they  do!  They're  all  like 
that,  these  suffrage  women! 

LEGGE.    But  she  ... 

BASIL.  It's  no  use:  he'll  never  understand!  That 
kind  of  nymphomaniac  never  does! 

LEGGE.  Insulting  me!  Do  I  gather  that  I  am 
being  insulted  by  a  woman  who  has  been 
forcibly  fed? 

BASIL.  That's  it,  Legge!  I  see,  I  was  mistaken! 
You're  getting  it! 

LEGGE.    Why   then,    I   am   insulted!    Grossly   in- 
sulted!   Never    so    insulted    in    my    life! 
8  [in] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

Won't  stand  it  for  one  moment!  At  least 
I  hope  I  am  a  gentleman!  I — I'll  go  into 
the  garden  and  pick  figs! 

He  goes  out  snorting. 

ROSIE  turns  on  DIANA  furiously; 

ROSIE.  I  hope  you'll  never  get  a  vote  as  long  as 
you  live!  He's  gone;  and  it's  all  your 
faultl 

DIANA.  Well,  that's  one  good  thing!  Too  many  of 
these  jigging  perverts  about,  flaunting  their 
cheap  lusts  in  people's  faces! 

ROSIE.  He  doesn't  jig!  He's  the  only  decent 
dancer  in  the  Archipelago!  And  now  he'll 
never,  never,  never  come  back  any  more! 

BASIL.  Diana,  your  last  remark  makes  me  grasp 
the  Bacckce  of  Euripides,  better  than  I 
ever  did  before. 

DIANA  (captured  by  the  idea).  That's  interest- 
ing! .  .  . 

[112] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

The  thought  so  fascinates  her,  she  is 
about  to  follow  it  up;  but  she  is 
switched  back  to  ROSIE; 

(Violently).    Rosie,   if  you   begin   howling 
again,  I'll  shake  the  life  out  of  you! 

ROSIE.  Yes,  that's  all  you  can  do!  Threaten  and 
play  the  bully!  It'll  be  bombs  and  break- 
ing windows  next! 

BASIL.     Supposing  I  put  in  another  little  word! .  .  . 

They  both  obliterate  him  at  once; 
BOTH.     No! 

DIANA.  We've  had  too  many  little  words  from  men 
already!  The  world  is  full  of  them!  And 
that  was  idiotically  out-of-place  about 
Euripides,  anyway!  It's  about  time  wom- 
en began  talking! 

BASIL.  All  the  same,  Diana,  Yen-all's  great  con- 
tention .  .  . 

DIANA     (stamping).  Basil! 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

ROSIE  (fishing  for  him).  There,  you  see!  She's 
like  that! 

DIANA     (stamping).  Rosie! 

ROSIE  (stamping).  I  won't  be  quiet!  I'm  a  woman 
too!  I  will  talk!  I  will!  I  will! 

DIANA.    Rosie,  if  you  keep  on  whining  .  .  . 
ROSIE.     You  great  big  coward,  I  hate  you! 

DIANA.  This  comes  of  the  vaunted  Happy  Home! 
This  comes  of  the  four  smug  walls  of  the 
dear  Protected  Life!  This  is  your  beauti- 
ful middle-class  comfort  and  respectability 
and  all  the  other  infidelities!  Blaspheme 
the  deeper  purposes  and  responsibilities  of 
God's  world!  Then  howling  and  whining, 
and  apes  like  that  dangling  about  the 
house! 

BASIL.  There's  something  in  what  you  say, 
Diana! 

DIANA.    What  do  you  know  about  it? 

[114] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

ROSIE.  There,  that's  what  you  get!  Serves  you 
right!  You  wouldn't  take  my  part,  when 
she  bullied  me! 

BASIL.     Come  now,  Mrs.  Fleming  .  .  . 

ROSIE.  No,  I  hate  you!  I  hate  you  both!  I  hate 
you! 

She  bursts  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

DIANA.  Oh,  these  Niobes!  No  wonder,  men  de- 
spise us! 

ROSIE.     There!    Now  she's  back  to  suffrage  again! 
DIANA.    Suffrage,  you  simpleton! 

ROSIE.  You  began  about  men!  What's  that  but 
suffrage?  You're  always  arguing  about  it! 

DIANA.  I  never  argue  suffrage!  Nobody  does! 
The  time  for  arguing  suffrage  passed  ages 
ago!  All  the  decent  people  accept  it:  the 
others  are  only  so  many  wingless  waddling 
dodos!  This  isn't  argument,  you — eocene! 
It's  plain  womanish  rage!  Fm  just  an  or- 


THE   RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

dinary  overtaxed  infuriated  human  creat- 
ure, planted  in  a  cosmos  of  gibbering 
lunatics!  Oh,  I  know  I'm  a  fool,  I  know 
I'm  a  fool,  losing  my  head  like  this!  You 
don't  imagine  I'm  happy  about  it,  do  you  ? 
Argument!  If  you  believe  I'm  standing  up 
here,  making  myself  hot  and  miserable, 
to  regale  you  with  Aristotelian  discourse, 
you  are  jolly  well  mistaken!  I'm  simply 
telling  you !  The  whole  boiling  of  you ! 

BASIL.  Nevertheless,  Diana,  pyrotechnics  like 
this  .  .  . 

DIANA.  Anyway,  my  pyrotechnics  don't  destroy 
innocent  babies  and  cathedrals! 

BASIL.  True!  Yet,  as  a  serious  contribution  td 
the  joyous  occasion  of  your  home-coming . . . 

DIANA  (with  biting  emphasis).  Am  I  attempting  to 
seriously  contribute  .  .  . 

BASIL  (inexpressibly  shocked).  Oh,  split  infinitive! 
Diana!  And  you  the  daughter  of  a 
scholar! 

[n6] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 
RosiE.     Yes,  she's  always  doing  things  like  that! 

DIANA  (fiercely).  Am  I,  you  little  prig?  And  who 
is  it,  that's  always  .  .  .  Oh,  what's  the  use? 
— Wasting  time  in  a  bedlam  of  chattering 
women  and  soldiers!  (Starting  again).  One 
thing,  I'll  swear!  Never  again,  as  long  as 
I  live  .  .  . 

DAVID  appears  hastily  from  the  loggia 
above,  a  thought  in  his  mind.  He 
is  washed  and  "groomed"  and 
immaculately  clad  in  cream  with 
a  golden  blazer.  He  comes  dressed 
to  his  doom. 

DAVID,    And  another  thing,  Diana!  .  .  . 

A  door  is  heard  slamming  in  the 
house. 

Curse  that  bath-room  door!  Why  can't 
somebody  .  .  . 

It's  about  that  book,  Diana!  I've  been 
thinking  up  there,  thinking  furiously; 
and  .  .  . 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

Meanwhile  he  has  descended  the  stair- 
way. 

ROSIE.     You'd  better  tell  him  yourself!    I'm  sick 
of  speaking! 

DAVID     (irritably).     What's    that?      Tell    whom? 
What? 

ROSIE.     Your  precious  Ion!    If  I've  spoken  about 
that  door  once,  I  have  a  ... 

DAVID.    Yes,  yes,  we  don't  want  the  usual  sermon 
over  it!     Everlastingly  .  .  . 

Now  you've  driven  clean  out  of  my  mind 
what  I  wanted  to  ... 

DIANA     (ominously).  That  book!  My  father's  book ! 

She  adds  with  concentrated  irony; 
.     THE  RIB!... 
DAVID.    Exactly!    My  book!    THE  RIB!  . .  . 

And    there    momentarily    he    stops. 
They  regard  each  other  intently. 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

ROSIE.     Only  wants  one  of  those  rubber  things, 
they  .  . . 

DAVID     (explosively).  Oh,  Rosie,  do  for  Heaven's 
sake  .  .  . 

She  goes  and  perches  conspicuously 
on  the  third  step  of  the  stairway, 
dramatising  God's  Little  Despised 
Worm. 

BASIL  sits  on  the  bench,  right,  his 
head  bent,  thinking.  And  remains 
so. 

ROSIE.     Pigs! 

Presently  DIANA  speaks; 

DIANA.    Well,  what  about  it? 

DAVID      (blustering).  Well,  what  about  it? 

DIANA.    You  intimated  just  now,  you  had  some- 
thing .  .  . 

DAVID.    So   I    have!    Volumes!    I've    thought   of 
nothing  else,  the  whole  time  I  was  dressing ! 
[119] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

What  the  devil's  wrong  with  the  title,  I'd 
like  to  know!  It's  conveniently  short:  it's 
popular:  descriptive. 

DIANA.    It  misrepresents  my  father.     It's  a  lie. 

DAVID.  It's  been  recognized  by  every  reputable 
university  in  the  world. 

DIANA.    So  was  Iscariot's  kiss  by  the  Sanhedrin. 

DAVID  (flaring).  If  your  father  were  such  a  stickler 
for  trifles,  why  on  earth  didn't  he  get  you 
to  write  the  book?  You  were  almost  as 
much  acquainted  with  the  discoveries  as  I. 

DIANA  (grimly  amused,  conceding  the  point).  Al- 
most! 

DAVID.    Very  well  then!    Why  didn't  he  ... 
DIANA.    Why?    You  ask  me  why? 
DAVID     (hesitating).  Yes,  I — I  do! 

She  searches  him  steadily  and  replies; 
[120] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 
DIANA.    Well,  there  were — reasons. 

DAVID  wince  s>  but  remains  silent. 

For  one  thing,  the  poor  soul  died.  Or  have 
you  forgotten  that  too ?  Don't  you  remem- 
ber, there  was  a  funeral:  out  in  the  little 
Cemetery  of  Apollo  yonder — where  he 
found  the  altar.  Rosie  wept,  I  recollect; 
and  you  made  a  beautiful  speech !  Quoted 
Pericles!  That  bit  about  ancestors!  About 
lordly  fathers!  About  the  obligations  We 
owe  the  masterly  dead! 

T) 

ROSIE  sniffs  at  Pericles. 

DAVID.  Of  course,  if  you  care  to  twit  me  on  my 
humble  beginnings,  my  poverty  .  .  . 

I  admit,  I  owe  your  father  much.     Much ! 

But  she  shakes  her  head  relentlessly. 

DIANA.  No,  you  can't  escape  me,  that  beggarly 
way.  It  isn't  the  humble  beginnings, 
Doctor  David  Fleming! 

DAVID  (spluttering).  It's  all  this  infernal  fuss  about 
titles,  I  do  so  violently  deprecate! 

[121] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 
DIANA.    So  I  observe.     I  wonder  what's  behind  it. 

DAVID.  Even  the  copyright  law,  with  its  multi- 
tudinous damfooleries,  doesn't  acknowledge 
titles! 

DIANA.  Oh,  you're  safe  enough,  legally!  My  point 
is  merely  honour,  moral  right! 

DAVID.    Well,  and  what  moral  wrong  .  .  . 

DIANA.  Tampering  with  the  fruits  of  another  man's 
life.  It's  like  infanticide!  It's  like  child 
labour! 

DAVID.    All  the  same,  thousands  .  . . 

DIANA.  Oh,  I  know  it's  done!  It's  done  in  the 
best  literary  circles!  People  get  decora- 
tions, enormous  triumphs,  out  of  it!  But 
what  kind  of  a  low-down  cur,  do  you  think, 
would  lend  himself  to  it? 

DAVID.    I  must  protest  .  .  . 

DIANA.  So  must  I!  A  little  more  vociferously  than 
you!  Don't  you  understand?  This  is 

[122] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

Ananke,  Nemesis,  the  Day  of  Judgment, 
come  upon  you! 

DAVID.  Well,  since  you're  quoting,  THE  RIB  has 
good  sound  biblical  .  .  . 

DIANA.  Listen,  you  shifty  knave!  There's  more 
behind  this  temporising,  than  mere  titles! 
Disloyalty  upon  disloyalty!  I'll  unmask 
them  all!  First,  answer  me  that  question 
you  evaded  just  now,  when  you  went  up- 
stairs. 

DAVID.    What — question  ? 

DIANA.    Concerning  this — RIB,  you  trickster! 

DAVID.    I  tell  you,  that  title  .  .  . 

DIANA.  We've  done  with  titles!  Come  to  the  book 
itself!  What  have  you  done  with  my 
father's  Interpretation? 

DAVID.    If  you'd  only  .  .  . 

DIANA.    My  father's  Interpretation! 

[123! 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 
DAVID.    Yes,  but  .  .  . 

DIANA.    The  Interpretation! 

DAVID.  The  entire  archaeological  outlook  has 
changed,  since  your  father's  day! 

DIANA.  In  three  years?  In  these  waters?  During 
the  war? 

DAVID.  It's  terribly  difficult  to  explain.  You  see, 
when  one  man  writes  a  book,  and  an- 
other .  .  . 

DIANA  (impatiently).  Provides  every  scrap  of  the 
material,  yes,  yes!  .  .  . 

DAVID.  Yes,  but  all  so  disarranged,  ill-digested,  so 
fantastical — theoretical  .  .  . 

DIANA.  Why,  the  whole  thing  was  planned!  Only 
wanted  writing!  Every  particle  of  the 
evidence  pigeonholed  and  docketed!  And 
the  Interpretation,  with  this  altar  as  the 
sign  and  symbol  of  it,  apocalyptically  per- 
fect! 

[124] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

DAVID.  That  was  just  the  point.  I  tell  you,  your 
father's  a  priori  speculations  .  .  . 

DIANA.    Well? 

DAVID.  How  can  I  explain,  and  you  hectoring  me 
like  this  ?  If  you'd  only  keep  calm  .  .  . 

DIANA.    Go  on.     I'm  deadly  calm. 

And  she  is.     But  DAVID  blunders  on. 

DAVID.  Of  course,  everybody  admires  your  father. 
I  myself  owe  him — lots.  After  all,  he  did 
.  .  .  There  was  the  altar. 

DIANA     (ironically).    There  was! 

DAVID.  Naturally,  in  those  first  days,  we  all  got 
tremendously  excited.  These  wonderful 
discoveries,  and  the  recognition.  .  .  .  I'm 
afraid  we  rather  lost  our  heads.  And  with- 
out doubt,  your  father's  vigorous  personal- 
ity, his  fine  rugged  pioneer  work  .  .  . 

DIANA.    Fine  rugged  wow  wow  wow,  yes? 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

DAVID.  Well,  damn  it,  since  you  will  be  rude, 
there  was  a  reaction!  There  had  to  be! 
Theories  are  all  very  well;  but,  my  Lord, 
theories  that  line  you  up  with  all  the  politi- 
cal anarchies  of  the  present  day.  .  .  .  They 
had  to  go!  They  had  to!  Men's  minds 
sober  down:  inevitably,  they  take  on  judg- 
ment, balance,  a  more  conservative  safer 
point  of  view  .  .  . 

DIANA.    The  irreligious  hounds,  do  they? 
DAVID.    Oh,  the  devil!    You  wont  understand! 

DIANA.  But  you're  talking  like  some  pettifogging 
Doctor  of  an  university! 

DAVID.  Well,  I  suppose  that's  what  I  am!  After 
all,  Oxford,  Gottingen,  Berlin  .  .  . 

DIANA.    My  God! 

And  she  bursts  into  bitter  laughter. 

DAVID.  Anyway,  that's  more  than  ever  your 
father  .  .  . 

[126] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 
DIANA.    Black  abominable  ingrate! 

DAVID.  Oh!  How  can  I  make  you  understand? 
These  actions  are  forced  upon  one!  They 
are  a  necessity!  They  are  a  part  of  life! 
Almost  a  biological  necessity!  Like  war! 
Like  many  things!  Can't  you  understand? 

DIANA.  Oh,  I  understand,  well  enough !  You  have 
taken  my  father's  glorious  golden  child  of 
fire  and  crucified  it  for  your  own  safe,  sober, 
desecrating  RIB!  Oh,  you  have  mangled 
the  unborn  babe  in  the  womb — like  those 
other  pedagogic  monsters  yonder!  You! 
You!  You,  that  owed  him  everything! 
Why,  the  clothes  you  wore,  your  education, 
the  bread  that  fattened  your  sly  reptile  life 
.  .  .  Everything!  And  then — here!  Here, 
among  the  miracles !  Didn't  the  very  stones 
clamour  against  you:  the  glens,  the  caverns, 
the  quarried  wonders  of  his  beloved  king- 
dom? And  the  garden!  There,  where  he 
and  you  and  I.  ...  When  the  nightingales 
.  .  .  Oh,  sacrilege!  Contamination! 

And    all    for    what?     For    recognition! 
For  success!     For  the  petty  plaudits  of  the 
9  [127] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

universities!  The  universities  that  turn 
down  classics  for  a  bastard  culture  of 
efficiency!  The  universities  that  disqualify 
women,  cast  out  pacifists,  economists, 
musicians!  The  universities  that  foster 
atheism,  or  worse — revivalistic  devil-wor- 
ship! The  universities  with  their  sinister 
background  of  the  landlord,  swindling  iron- 
mongers, oilmongers,  the  canaille  mon- 
archies! Do  you  think  the  poet-dreamers 
that  revealed  the  ancient  secrets  of  these 
sacred  islands,  cared  for  universities?  Did 
Schliemann  care?  Did  Evans?  Did  any 
of  them  care?  No!  They  were  the  little 
workmen  band  of  true  believers,  that  turned 
their  backs  on  dictionaries  and  dead  bibles! 
The  word  came;  and  forsaking  everything, 
they  took  up  living  pick  and  shovel,  and 
they  followed.  My  sublime  father  tran- 
scended them  all!  In  a  sense,  he  was  all! 
His  great  spirit  brooded  over  this  ^Egean 
like  some  olden  God,  transfigured  and 
shewn  anew.  He  offered  us  his  precious 
child  to  redeem  us  from  the  pagan  dark- 
ness of  these  Pharisees;  and  you,  like  Judas, 
have  betrayed  him! 
[128] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

DAVID  (feverishly).  You  have  said  cruel,  unfor- 
givable things,  Diana!  Nevertheless,  I  still 
stoutly  maintain  .  .  . 

DIANA.  Oh,  I  know  the  fetters  you  have  forged 
won't  break  so  readily! 

DAVID.    What  do  you  mean? 

DIANA.  What  that  old  Greek  proverb  means — the 
one  you  used  to  quote  so  glibly:  Character 
is  destiny! 

DAVID.    I  don't  perceive  the  application. 

DIANA.  Look  inside  you,  man!  There  at  your 
black  heart's  core !  There  where  the  hidden 
thoughts  dwell  unspoken,  making  and  un- 
making forever  the  destinies  of  life.  You 
know  the  secret  thing,  I  name!  False  one 
way,  false  another!  That's  where  all  these 
piled  up  infidelities  began! 

DAVID.    Infidelities!     Do  you  charge  me  ... 

DIANA.    Look  inside,  I  say!    Link  by  link,  you  have 
forged  it  for  yourself!    You  can't  escape! 
[129] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

Not  until  you  pay  the  uttermost  farthing! 
Character  is  destiny!  Out  upon  you,  un- 
faithful servant!  Faithless  to  your  dying 
master's  wishes!  Faithless  to  your  scholar- 
ship, your  calling!  Faithless  to  your  breth- 
ren, the  toiling  comrades  of  the  awakening 
world!  Faithless  first  of  all  in — Love! 

DAVID.    Diana,  how  dare  you! 

ROSIE.  David,  don't  listen  to  her!  Oh,  you  vam- 
pire !  David  has  his  faults ! — Nobody  knows 
that  better  than  I!  He's  mean,  he's  selfish, 
he's  neglectful!  But  at  least,  at  least  he's 
faithful! 

She  utters  the  last  word  in  a  high 
exacerbated  howl. 

DIANA.  Ah! — You!  I  had  forgotten  your  share  in 
all  this  holocaust  of  desolation! 

ROSIE.  I'll  be  revenged  on  you  for  this,  yes,  I 
will!  I'll  do  something  desperate!  I — I'll 
put  it  in  the  hands  of  my  solicitor!  I'll  tell 
everybody  what  you  are! 


THE   RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

DIANA.  Trumpet  it  in  the  ears  of  Zeus  the 
Thunderer  and  all  the  choiring  galaxies  of 
high  Olympos!  Trumpet  it  through  the 
echoing  abysses  -of  Hell,  and  rouse  the 
wrath  of  Rhadamanthus!  I'll  trumpet 
first! 

DAVID.    Diana! 

DIANA.  He  was  mine — mine,  do  you  hear? — before 
you  came!  Oh,  I  know  no  word  was 
spoken!  Only  the  trees  whispered  it! 
Only  the  maiden  moon,  the  stars,  the  vio- 
let flaming  of  the  dusk,  looked  down  upon 
it!  It  dwelt  within,  the  vast  unuttered 
longing  of  our  hearts !  An  exquisite  silence ! 
You  came,  and  stole  him  from  me! 

DAVID.    Diana! 

DIANA.  My  father's  illness  helped  you!  You  crept 
in  like  a  serpent,  whilst  I  nursed  him,  and 
you  worked  your  poisonous  will.  You,  the 
simple  little  school-girl  from  Germany! 
You,  the  little  sly  minx  of  the  knowing 
mind,  of  the  furtive  novelette,  the  baby! 
[131] 


THE    RIB   OF  THE   MAN 

You,  the  little  turkey-trotter  from  the 
boarding-school!  You  knew,  you  knew 
what  you  were  doing!  You  came  like 
Eve,  that  thief  in  the  night,  that  wanton, 
that  Rib  of  all  the  sorrows  of  the  ages,  and 
you  robbed  me  of  my  Eden!  I  was  his 
Lilith,  that  wretched,  first,  forgotten  one; 
and  you  stole  him  from  me! 

DAVID.    Diana!  .  .  . 

DIANA.  And  what  have  you  done  for  him?  This! 
Turned  him  and  all  the  promise  of  his 
youth  to  spiritual  beggary!  What  have 
you  done  for  yourself?  You  are  idle,  vain, 
luxurious,  you  don't  labour!  You  work 
people  socially  for  your  own  ends!  You 
fritter  away  your  time  with  the  lecherous 
nincompoops  of  that  Saturnalia,  the  mod- 
ern dance!  You  despise  your  husband's 
profession;  and  yet  you  live  upon  his  bread ! 
You  cadge!  You  sponge!  Why,  you  are 
not  even  an  honourable  wife!  You  claim 
the  advantages  of  a  man's  hearth  and 
home:  you  prate  of  faithfulness;  and  then 
— you  repudiate  his  child! 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 
ROSIE.     Silence,  you  .  .  . 

DIANA.  Why  should  I  be  silent?  I  have  been 
silent  for  three,  long  bitter  years!  I  will 
shout  it  to  the  heavens  !  I  will  shout  until 
the  Blessed  Mother  of  God  flings  wide  the 
windows  of  those  glittering  mansions,  and 
looks  down  in  pity  upon  Womankind!  I 
speak  no  longer  for  myself  alone!  But  for 
all  women  !  All  the  despised  ones  !  All  the 
cast-out  Hagars,  the  Medeas:  the  childless 
Liliths  of  Eve's  polluted  Eden!  Aiai, 
epathon  tlamon  epathon  megalon  axi  odur- 
mon!*  Oh,  that  ancient  singer  of  the 
woes  of  women  —  "the  human,  with  his 
droppings  of  warm  tears"  —  he  knew!  .  .  . 
He  knew!  .  .  . 

She  is  about  to  break  down. 
DAVID.    Nevertheless,  I  invincibly  maintain  .  .  . 

DIANA.  Out  of  my  path!  I  have  done  with  men 
now! 


*  mat,  ttraOov  r\afta>v  tira9ov  /tfyaXwv  a£i'  udvppwv.  Woe  is  me  !  I 
have  suffered,  I  have  suffered,  mighty  wrongs,  worthy  of  lamentations! 
(EURIPIDES,  Medea,  in.) 

[133] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

And  recovering  herself,  she  passes  like 
flame  into  the  garden. 

DAVID  is  left  stupefied  for  the  moment. 

BASIL  rises  heavily  from  his  medita- 
tion. 

DAVID.    Basil,  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour  as  a 
gentleman  .  .  . 

BASIL.     Oh,  go  to  the  devil!    I'm  after  Diana! 
He  limps  into  the  garden. 

DAVID  turns  towards  his  wife.  She 
is  glaring  at  him.  He  glares  back 
again,  bristling  his  moustache. 

If  required,  the  CURTAIN  may  descend 
at  this  point. 


END  OF  THE  THIRD  ACT 


THE   FOURTH  ACT 

THORNS  AND  THISTLES 


THE  FOURTH  ACT 

The  Scene  and  the  Situation  remain  unchanged: 
ROSIE  and  DAVID  stand  glaring  at  each  other.  The 
first  violet  touch  of  twilight  faintly  tinges  the  JEgean  sky. 

ROSIE.  To  think  that  such  a  thing  should  happen 
to  me!  And  I've  done  nothing  whatever 
to  deserve  it! 

DAVID.  Rosie,  do  for  God's  sake  stop  ventilating 
your  own  personal  feelings!  I'm  the  real 
sufferer,  not  you!  Do  think  a  bit  about 
me! 

ROSIE.     But  she  said  that  you  and  she  .  .  . 

DAVID.  She  also  said  that  you  and  that  nincom- 
poop .  .  . 

ROSIE.  Yes,  but  here!  In  my  own  Eden!  It  all 
seems  so  ... 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

DAVID.  Well,  well,  and  what  then?  I  confess  to  a 
certain  streak  of  sentimentality  inherited 
from  my  mother.  Racial,  I  suppose!  She 
was.  .  .  .  Besides,  it's  not  true!  Didn't  you 
hear  her  say,  no  word  was  spoken?  Can't 
a  man  have  a  racial  streak  from  his  mother, 
without  you  .  .  . 

ROSIE.  Yes,  but  Diana!  My  own  sister!  She 
said  you  were  an  evader!  If  there's  one 
thing  I  loathe,  it  is  unfaithfulness! 

DAVID.    But  I'd  never  even  met  you! 

ROSIE.  You  should  have  known!  You  should  have 
known,  that  I  was  waiting  for  you  in  the 
Yet-to-be! 

DAVID.  There  you  go  again!  Here  am  I,  a  man 
whose  whole  career  is  blasted,  his  ambitions 
blown  to  smithereens  by  that  woman;  and 
you  do  nothing  but  discuss  your  own 
wounded  little  vanities!  Can't  you  realize 
the  immensity  of  this  tragedy?  It's  cata- 
clysmic! It's  like  the  war!  It's  like  the 
toppling  of  an  empire!  And  you  choose 
[138] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

just  this  moment,  when  I  am  girt  in  by 
an  implacable  iron  ring  of  enemies  .  .  . 

ROSIE.     Enemies!  .  .  . 

DAVID.  Yes,  pack  of  myopic  degenerates!  And 
they  can't  see,  they  simply  can't  see  how 
right  I  am!  Curse  them,  oh,  curse  them! 
I  tell  you,  the  hymn  of  hate  that  rises  up 
in  my  heart .  .  . 

ROSIE.     But  there's  only  one!    Only  Diana! 

DAVID.  She'll  tell  everybody!  There's  not  a  news- 
paper in  the  world  that  won't  back  up  her 
story!  As  for  these  others,  my  competitors, 
don't  you  know,  the  whole  perfidious  crew 
is  against  me?  Just  waiting  for  my  down- 
fall! Well,  they've  forced  this  thing  upon 
me!  If  it's  war,  I'm  prepared  for  them! 
Envy,  that's  the  secret!  Envy  of  my  at- 
tainments! Envy  of  my  far-flung  reputa- 
tion! Envy  of  my — well,  culture  and 
efficiency! 

ROSIE.     I  know  it's  dreadful  to  be  misunderstood! 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

DAVID.  I  don't  mind  being  misunderstood,  if  they'd 
only  stop  interfering  with  my  schemes! 
A  man  like  me  is  bound  to  be  misunder- 
stood! What  do  they  know  of  advanced 
Zarathustrian  psychology?  That  woman 
prates  of  your  father's  scholarship!  What 
of  me?  I'm  a  super-scholar!  This  isn't 
egotism!  This  isn't  megalomania!  It's 
simply  a  priori  subjective  assurance  of 
manifest  destiny:  I  know  I'm  It!  Got  it 
from  my  mother!  As  a  child,  I  strutted 
with  a  little  cocked  hat  and  a  flag  and  a 
drum,  singing,  Me  above  everybody!  And 
then  to  be  goaded  from  my  peace-loving 
life,  by  battalions  of  grasping  barbarians, 
who  won't  even  acknowledge  their  in- 
famy! 

ROSIE.     Oh,  dear!    Oh,  dear!  .  .  . 

DAVID.  Oh,  Shakespeare,  my  Shakespeare:  so  much 
mine,  I  could  almost  believe  I  wrote  him! 
He  knew!  He  knew,  when  speaking  out 
of  the  agony  of  his  great  heart,  he  said: 

The  world  is  out  of  joint!     Oh,  cursed  spite, 
that  ever  I  was  born  to  set  it  right! 
[140] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 
ROSIE.     Now,  his  spouting! 

DAVID.  There's  one  thing!  If  I'm  dragged  down, 
they  shall  all  come  too!  I've  prepared  for 
this!  I  believe  in  "preparedness!  I  laid 
my  plans  long  ago — when  I  was  in  your 
father's  employment!  I  saw  the  old  man 
weakening,  long  before  anybody  else  did! 
I  calculated  to  a  nicety!  Then  when  at 

last,  the  day  ... 

• 

ROSIE.  As  though  any  of  it  really  very  much 
mattered! 


DAVID.  You'll  know  soon  enough,  whether  it  mat- 
ters! When  we  are  beggared!  No  more 
home  comforts!  No  more  entertainments! 
No  more  jolly  little  dinners!  .  .  . 

By  the  bye,  what  was  that  mess  you  gave 
me  for  lunch?    You  know  I  like  my  food 
wallowing  in  butter!    And  now,  on  top  of 
everything — This ! 
** 

ROSIE.  That  was  your  darling  Ion?  I  knew  you'd 
be  cross! 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

DAVID.  Seems  to  me,  wherever  I  turn,  my  will  is 
thwarted,  my  loftiest  ideals  profaned !  My 
mother  was  the  only  woman  that  could 
ever  manage  kidneys!  Then  for  that 
shameless  hussy,  your  sister,  to  stand  up 
there  and  brazen  me  out  .  .  . 

ROSIE  (on  her  mettle).  Anyway  your  mother 
couldn't  .  .  . 

DAVID  (on  his).  She  never  mistook  dry  shreds 
of  desiccated  rag  for  kidneys ! 

ROSIE.     You  should  hear  Ion  about  your  mother! 

DAVID.  There,  I'm  done  with  you!  I'm  done  with 
the  whole  family!  Oh,  loneliness!  Oh,  in- 
tolerable loneliness  of  the  Over-soul!  I'll 
be  revenged  for  this!  I'll  think  out  some- 
thing catastrophic,  irrevocable,  some  deed 
of  frightfulness!  I'll — I'll  send  in  my 
resignation!  I  ... 

No,  I  won't!    That  would  be  too  simple! 
They  might  not  see  the  heroism  of  that! 
Something  with  more  sentiment  to  it,  more 
drama!...  Ah!    I  have  it! 
[142] 


THE   RIB   OF  THE   MAN 

ROSIE  (whimpering).  Always  this,  always  this! 
When  there's  kidneys! 

DAVID.  Yes,  that's  the  idea!  Yonder,  on  some  tali 
cliff  overlooking  my  own  jEgean,  my  cloak 
about  me,  lonely,  like  an  emperor:  the 
pistol  at  my  head.  .  .  . 

ROSIE.     My  God!    It's  in  the  air! 

DAVID.  Then,  when  they'd  all  be  crying,  Crucify! 
.  .  .  And  yet,  perhaps,  before  the  fatal 
moment,  one  little  speech,  a  swan-song  .  .  . 

ROSIE.     David!    David!... 

He  gazes  at  her,  long  and  terribly. 

DAVID.  Rosie,  you  are  right!  I  see!  I  see!  Death 
would  be  sublime;  but  it  is  prouder,  braver, 
grander  still  to  live  and  face  them  out! 
Eternal-Womanly,  ever  beckoning,  you 
have  shewn  me  the  diviner  way!  I'll  live 
and  civilize  them! 

ROSIE.     My  hero! 
10  [  H3  1 


THE   RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

DAVID.  Not  quite,  my  pole-star;  but  I  will  be! 
Yes,  I  see  the  way!  That  book,  it  was 
entrusted  to  my  sacred  care  by  One  alone! 
We  two  will  guard  it!  Myself  and  God! 
Yes,  with  the  sword  unscabbarded  if  needs 
be,  against  any  woman  in  the  world! 

And  as  he  says  it,  he  looks  every  inch 
a  king. 

Somebody  coming!     If  it's  Diana,  don't 
say  where  I  am.     I'll  slip  out  quietly. 

He  darts  for  the  cellar;  but  on  the 
threshold  jumps  as  though  stung. 

.    What  the... 

And  he  sneaks  upstairs  swiftly  into 
the  villa.  A  moment  latery  ARCHIE 
lounges  in  lugubriously  from  the 
garden. 

ROSIE.     Oh,  it's  you! 
LEGGE.    Yes,  it's  me. 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 
ROSIE.     Boy! 

LEGGE.    Little  woman! 
ROSIE.     Won't  you  sit  down? 

They  do  so,  at  the  base  of  the  altar. 

Archie,  I  have  some  bitter  news  to  break 
to  you. 

LEGGE.    Really!    That's  odd!    I  have  some  bitter 
news  to  break  to  you! 

ROSIE.    Try  and  be  brave,  Archie!    Nobly,  for  my 
sake! 

LEGGE.    Ton  my  word!    Very  thing,  I  wanted  to 
say  myself! 

ROSIE.    Why,  what  can  you  .  .  . 
LEGGE.    No!    Ladies  first,  Rosie! 

ROSIE.    Then,  briefly.    Archie — Oh,  my  poor  boy! — 
We  must  part  forever! 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 
LEGGE.    Positively  uncanny!  That's  the  identical . . . 

ROSIE.  I  know  what  you  would  say!  Your  soul 
divined  it!  I'm  like  that  too.  After  all, 
sympathy  such  as  ours  surpasses  words! 

LEGGE.    Yes,  but  Rosie  . . . 

ROSIE.  No,  Archie,  please!  I  can't  bear  it!  I 
know  the  passionate  longings,  the  unut- 
tered  anguish,  the  vain  regrets!  I  can 
read  them  in  your  eyes! 

He  blinks. 

Let  them  rest  there.    Life  is  very  hard, 
isn't  it,  Archie? 

LEGGE.    Bally  awful,  if  you  ask  me. 

ROSIE.  And  this  is  the  end.  You  will  go  your  way; 
and  I,  mine.  Like  that  other  ill-starred 
couple  in  the  Long-ago.  I'm  Josephine: 
you  are  Napoleon.  I  must  follow  my 
destiny.  Only,  I  believe  in  history,  it  was 
the  other  way  about. 
[146] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 
LEGGE.    Quite  so. 

ROSIE.  Isn't  it  strange,  Archie,  in  misery  like  ours, 
when  all  else  fails,  there  is  still  one  com- 
fort left!  Destiny,  Fate,  the  Thing  that 
Had  to  Be! 

LEGGE.    Often  thought  so  myself! 

ROSIE-  (her  heart  breaking).  Oh,  Archie,  Archie, 
shall  you  ever  forget  That  Night?  That 
night  of  the  naval  ball!  The  night  they 
sank  the  battleships! 

She  quavers  a  sad  remembrant  phrase 
of  haunting  rag-time. 

Do  you  remember?  .  .  . 

LEGGE.  Rather!  .  .  .  And  afterwards,  don't  you 
know,  the  lobster  .  .  . 

ROSIE.  Yes,  the  dear  broiled  lobster  too!  Each 
tender  thought  has  place  in  memory's  sad 
dream!  Poor  foolish  tears!  .  .  . 

He  blinks.     She  hands  him  her  hand- 
kerchief. He  dabs,  and  gives  it  back. 


THE   RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

Do  you  know,  Archie,  I  have  a  presenti- 
ment, I  shall  never  never  dance  again! 

LEGGE.    No,  really!    Why? 

ROSIE.  Something  whispers  it!  I'm  like  that!  In 
the  first  place,  there'll  be  no  men!  Doesn't 
the  war  come  home  to  one?  And  then, 
with  all  that  grief  abroad,  it  may  not  be 
considered  quite — the  thing!  No!  -I  shall 
turn  elsewhere.  I  shall  find  my  place,  be 
sure  of  it!  Not  so  happy  a  place  perhaps; 
but  no  less  beautiful!  I  will  take  up  some- 
thing noble!  Something  sorrowfully  lofty! 
Something  to  help  a  little.  Possibly — 
spiritualism. 

LEGGE.    I  was  thinking  of  golf,  myself. 

ROSIE.     Do,  Archie.     It  will  buck  you  up. 

And  now,  before  Good-bye.  .  .  .  You  have 
heard  my  bitterness.     What's  yours? 

LEGGE.  There's  the  joke !  Precisely  the  same  thing ! 
We  must  part  forever!  Haw! 

ROSIE.    What!  .  . 

[148] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

LEGGE.  Fact!  Funniest  thing  I  ever  struck  in  my 
life!  Got  my  things  packed  this  after- 
noon! That's  why  I  disappointed  you  at 
the  Kafenia! 

ROSIE.     But  Archie,  why? 

LEGGE.  Deuced  awkward  to  explain!  You  see,  in 
that  letter  I  wouldn't  shew  you,  Georgina 
said — I  jolly  well  had  to! 

ROSIE      (rising).  Oh!    Good-bye! 

She  has  the  manner  of  an  icicle. 
LEGGE     (rising).  Tra-la-la! 

He  is  going:  but  returns. 

I  say,  Rosie,  last  time,  don't  you  know! 
Just  one  turn! 

He  tootles  and  assumes  a  gallinaceous 
posture.    She  remains  unmoved. 

Come  now,  Rosie,  be  a  sport! 

[149] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

He  flaps  and  squirms  abdominally; 
but  already  her  soul  is  turned  to 
higher  things. 

BASIL,  watch  in  hand,  re-appears 
from  the  garden. 

BASIL.  Legge,  your  boat  sails  in  fifteen  minutes. 
Now,  don't  argue!  Remember  what  I 
said!  When  the  Harbour  Master's  gun 
goes  off,  you  do. 

LEGGE.    Why,  the  gun? 

BASIL.  Sundown:  all  safe!  The  vessel's  neutral 
and  babies  aboard;  so  you  mayn't  be 
submarined! 

LEGGE.    Submarined!  .  .  . 

BASIL.     You  have  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

LEGGE.    But  .  .  . 

BASIL.  Quarter  of  an  hour.  Come!  I  see  Miss 
Brand  approaching. 

LEGGE  bolts  at  once  for  the  cellar. 
[150] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 
LEGGE     (within).  Oh,  get  out  of  my  way! 

There  is  a  sound  of  hissing. 

BASIL.  They  fizzle  at  the  end,  don't  they?  These 
— affinities ! 

ROSIE.  Captain  Martin,  Basil .  .  .  Let  me  call  you 
Basil!  I  am  so  unhappy!  Won't  you  be 
kind  to  me? 

BASIL.     I  can't!    I'm  lame. 

DAVID  creeps  out  from  the  loggia. 
Hello,  David!    Come  down. 
DAVID.    I  will  brook  no  commands  from  .  .  . 

BASIL.  Don't  be  an  histrionic  ass:  come  down, 
man!  I  want  to  talk  to  you. 

And  something  in  his  tone  makes  him 
obey.  He  stands  with  ROSIE  on 
the  left.  BASIL  is  in  front  of  the 
altar. 

[151] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

Still  sulking,  because  I  told  you  to  go  to 
the  devil?  Did  you  go? 

DAVID.    Don't  try  to  be  funny! 

BASIL.     I'll  be  serious  enough,  presently.    Ah,  here 
she  is! 

DIANA  rushes  in  determinedly  from 
the  garden.  Seeing  them,  she  stops 
dead. 

Well,  Di! 
DIANA.    Diana! 

BASIL.     Di!    I'm  in  command  here. 
And  she  is  silent. 

Now,  we're  the  whole  happy  family  to- 
gether again!  Nice  typical  example  of  the 
blessings  of  Home,  Sweet  Home! 

Automatically,  they  all  turn  their 
backs  upon  him. 


THE   RIB   OF  THE   MAN 

You  wouldn't  do  that,  if  you  saw  what 
I  had  in  my  hand. 

They  turn  again.     He  has  nothing. 
DIANA     (laughing  in  spite  of  herself).  Silly  idiot! 

ROSIE  sniffs.     DAVID  looks  as  if  all 
this  is  in  very  poor  taste. 

BASIL.     That's  better!    Let  me  see  your  pretty 
faces. 

The    women    stiffen.      DAVID    im- 
perialises. 

Now,  I'm  here  on  ticklish  business.  I'm 
here  offering  a  priceless  boon.  If  I  suc- 
ceed, the  boon  is  yours.  I  shall  probably 
come  off  with  unpleasantness  anyway.  In 
a  word,  I'm  here  to  see  if  we  can't  turn  this 
hopeless  muddle  into  a  Peace  Conference. 

ROSIE.     I  won't! 

DAVID.    I  won't! 

[iS3l 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 
DIANA.    I  won't! 

BASIL.  Splendid!  We're  beginning  properly  al- 
ready. 

They  look  as  if  they  could  devour  him. 

DIANA.  I  will  say  just  this  one  thing.  It's  what 
I  came  back  for — that  and  my  scarf. 
David,  you  are  nearest.  Thanks. 

The  transaction  is  made  via  BASIL. 
ROSIE  sniffs. 

It's  this.  I'm  sorry  I  was  so — excessive, 
just  now.  I  apologize  for  many  of  the 
things  I  mentioned.  We  needn't  go  into 
particulars,  but  you  all  know  what  I  mean. 
I  said  things  that  were  caddish  and  un- 
ladylike and  horrid!  (Flaring).  And  that's 
as  far  as  I'll  go  for  anybody  present! 
Whoever  she  may  be! 

ROSIE.     That's  just  like  her!    She  can't  even  .  .  . 

DIANA.    Rosie,  you  ungenerous  little  beast,  if  you 
dare  to  answer  back  .  .  . 
[1541 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

DAVID.  Yes,  that's  how  these  polemical  females, 
the  shrieking  sisterhood  .  .  . 

DIANA.  You  be  silent!  I'm  not  talking  to  you! 
I'll  never  talk  to  you  again  as  long  as  I 
live! 

BASIL.  Am  I,  or  am  I  not,  the  president  of  this 
Conference  ? 

They  all  snap  at  him  together; 
OMNES.  You — are — not! 

DAVID.    My  mother  always  said  that  women  who . . . 
DIANA.    Mother !    How  dare  you  profane  the  name  ? 

DAVID.  Profane!  I'm  honouring  her!  She  made 
me  what  I  am! 

DIANA  snorts  hysterically.     This  gets 
DAVID'S  dander  up. 

Anyhow,  she  was  no  suffragette!  She 
sprang  from  a  long  illustrious  line  of  pro- 
lific protestant  housewives! 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

DIANA.  Lord,  can't  you  imagine  how  he's  written 
the  book! 

DAVID.    My  mother  was  .  .  . 

ROSIE.  Now  you've  started  him  on  his  mother, 
he'll  never  never  stop!  I'm  sick  to  death 
of  his  mother!  I  hear  nothing  but  his 
mother,  morning,  noon  and  night;  and  I'm 
tired  of  her! 

DIANA.    Rosie,  stop  howling! 

BASIL.  Steady  on,  Diana.  Don't  be  imperialistic! 
Give  the  little  nationalities  a  chance! 

DIANA.  Well,  and  if  we're  nationalities,  which  is 
he?  He's  .  .  . 

BASIL.  Don't  say  it,  Diana!  That's  carrying 
symbolism  too  far. 

DIANA.  Well,  don't  you  dare  to  call  me  Germany! 
Or  England!  Or  Russia!  I  won't  be  any 
of  their  filthy  empires!  I'm  something 
crushed  and  hurt  and  hideously  broken! 
I'm  Belgium! 

[156] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 
BASIL.     Leopold's  or  Albert's? 

DIANA.  Well,  I'm  not  as  abominably  outrageous  as 
the  one! 

BASIL  (slowly).  Nor  as  abominably  outraged  as 
the  other.  Come,  you  be  Poland;  and 
pull  yourself  together. 

Diana  hesitates:  then  sinks  downy 
and  dissolves.  There  is  a  long 
silence. 

Yes,   the   thought   of  those   two    agonies 
ought  to  gag  all  our  mouths. 

There  is  a  longer  silence. 

And  that's  how  it  all  goes.  Hatred,  pas- 
sion, bitterness,  idle  recrimination,  vio- 
lence— everything  but  getting  down  to  the 
root  of  the  matter  and  putting  it  right. 
It  isn't  that  the  underlying  causes  don't 
go  deep  enough;  but,  my  Lord,  the  inap- 
propriate way  of  dealing  with  them!  That's 
what  troubles  me,  the  inappropriateness, 
[i57] 


THE   RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

the  non  sequitur  of  it  all!  Really,  your  lit- 
tle tin-pot  quarrel  here  is  very  like  that 
monster  one  out  yonder.  Landless  Fritz 
and  disinherited  Bertie  are  now  busy  cutting 
each  other's  throats.  In  God's  name,  why  ? 
Because  a  gang  of  emperors  and  million- 
aires, lusting  after  a  lump  of  gold  in  an- 
other man's  land,  twaddle  a  few  obscenities 
about  flags  and  fatherlands.  Or  mother- 
lands, it  doesn't  much  matter.  I'm  insult- 
ing all  their  blasted  nationalities,  including 
my  own. 

DIANA.    I  ... 
BASIL.     Yes,  Diana? 
DIANA.    Never  mind.    Go  on. 

BASIL.  Of  course,  we  are  every  one  of  us  fighting 
for  the  right!  So  is  David.  So  is  Rosie. 
We  are  all  pillaging  and  butchering  one 
another,  in  order  to  maintain  civilization. 
Yes,  but  which?  The  civilization  of  the 
Kaiser  and  his  gentle  son?  The  civiliza- 
tion of  Lord  NorthclifFe?  The  civilization 
[158] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

of  Siberia  and  Bloody  Sunday?  Of  the 
Turkish  harem,  the  Serbian  bomb,  Italian 
intrigue?  Or  a  new  civilization  of  all  the 
workers  of  the  world,  pledged  to  dispossess 
these  .  .  . 

You're  a  linguist,  Diana.    What's  the 
word? 

DIANA.    There  isn't  one. 

r 

DAVID  makes  an  angry  movement. 

BASIL.  Yes,  we  know  your  word,  David !  David's 
word,  David's  book  about  these  things, 
dominates  the  whole  of  Europe!  Many 
books!  White,  yellow,  grey,  every  colour! 
What  the  world  is  waiting  for  is  Diana's 
book,  Diana's  Father's  book,  not  David's! 
Some  day,  I  suppose  the  peoples  will  arise 
and  demand  it,  if  they  have  to  crack  the 
chancelleries  with  sledge-hammers! 

DAVID.    Humph!    Violence,  now! 

BASIL.     Why    not? — I'm    a    soldier!    If    I    have 
hitherto  shed  blood  for  David's  lie,  why 
not,    henceforward     for     Diana's     truth? 
"  [159] 


THE   RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

Deeply  considered,  perhaps  this  war  does 
present  just  such  an  alternative.  What  is  it, 
but  the  last  great  struggle  between  wom- 
an's world,  that  preserves  and  organises  and 
makes  alive;  and  man's  that  makes  de- 
struction? There  have  been  too  many 
Davids  managing  affairs.  Let's  have  Diana 
for  a  change. 

DAVID.  What  about  carrying  symbolism  too  far, 
now  ? 

BASIL.  Don't  you  perceive,  you  pedantic  ass,  that 
I  am  speaking  dramatically?  Have  you 
no  imagination?  Here  am  I,  trying  to  up- 
lift you  from  the  slough  of  your  own  petty 
lives  into  a  realm  of  pure  theoria — That's 
the  word,  isn't  it,  Diana? — and  you  keep 
butting  in  with  the  trivial  objections  of  a 
stockbroker. 

DAVID.  Nevertheless,  any  invasion  of  my  God- 
sanctioned  rights  in  that  book  or  anything 
else,  I  will  resist  with  .  .  . 

BASIL.  *  Oh,   come   off  it,   Billy   Strutabout!    We 

really  are  a  little  sick  of  you!  .  .  . 

life] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

It's  this  damned  impenitence  of  heart, 
that  gets  me!  No  sense  of  sin  anywhere! 
No  decent  cleansing  self-contempt!  We 
are  all  so  blatantly  assured  of  our  election! 
And  we  prove  it  by  the  number  of  dead 
things  we  pile  around  us!  I  suppose  it's 
part  of  our  disgusting  religion!  .  .  . 

He  pauses  a  little,  thinking  deeply. 

Come  to  that,  I'm  not  unscathed!  I 
have  sinned  more  grievously  than  you  all. 

They  look  at  him  enquiringly. 
If  it  were  not  for  one  thing  .  .  . 
DIANA.    One  thing —    Yes?  .  .  . 

He  fixes  her  with  a  long  curious  gaze. 
ROSIE.     What  did  you  do,  exactly? 

He  fixes  her. 

BASIL.     Exactly? 

[161] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 
ROSIE.    Yes. 

BASIL.     Murder. 
ROSIE.     Murder!  .  .  . 

BASIL.  Cold-blooded  murder,  too:  that's  the  worst 
of  it!  No  excuse  in  passion,  for  the  deeds 
I  did!  I  have  slaughtered  cynically, 
laughing  like  a  sportsman,  counting  my 
bag.  You,  David,  have  falsified  a  great 
scholastic  trust.  I  have  destroyed  past 
recovery,  the  garnered  learning  of  the 
ages.  You  have  repudiated  prospective 
motherhood.  I  have  massacred  sleeping 
babies. 

ROSIE.     Murder!  .  .  . 

DAVID.  He  means  militarism.  That's  this  new- 
fangled pacifist  way  of  talking. 

BASIL.     Yes,  the  new  way!    You  see,  war  doesn't 

look  as  beautiful  to  soldiers  as  it  does  to 

patriots.     I  say  this,  who  have  served  it 

with  the  devotion  of  an  anchorite.    Yes? 

[162] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

David's  book  tricked  me:  I  have  no  cause 
to  flout  him.  I  have  given  to  lies,  the 
energy  and  zeal  that  might  have  saved  the 
world.  If  I  had  only  stopped  to  puzzle  out 
the  meaning  of  these  words  they  offered 
me! — Honour,  national  destiny,  your  coun- 
try, and  the  rest  of  it.  But  no!  They 
waved  a  flag  before  me,  muttering  the 
usual  incantations,  and  I  followed.  I  am 
a  soldier:  I  have  always  followed  flags! 
I  am  a  soldier:  I  have  never  questioned 
anything!  I  am  a  soldier:  I  have  never 
dared  to  disobey !  Yes,  David's  old-fangled 
gospel  of  the  Beast  with  the  Horns  of 
Blasphemy  bound  me  long  enough!  ...  A 
thousand  years!  .  .  . 

But  now,  at  last,  I  am  free! 

He  pauses  again,  striving  to  remember 
something. 

There  was  a  word  uttered  the  other  day, 
a  brave  word,  destined  to  become  historic. 
It  might  very  well  be  incorporated  in  your 
book,  Diana.  It's  a  woman's  word,  fear- 
less, formidable;  though  spoken  by  a  man. 
[163] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

I  should  like  to  be  associated  with  it  now 
— in  the  days  of  its  contempt  and  obloquy. 

Too  proud  to  fight. 

DAVID.    And  he's  a  soldier,  mind  you! 

BASIL.  Oh,  there  are  many  of  us  beginning  to  feel 
that  way.  There'll  be  more,  by  and  bye. 
I'm  telling  you  now,  before  it's  popular. 

ROSIE.  I  must  say,  your  argument  doesn't  appeal 
to  me!  It  wouldn't  to  any  real  woman! 
I  like  a  man  to  be  brave! 

BASIL.  Very  well,  we'll  begin  at  home;  and  over- 
turn those  money-changers'  tables! 

ROSIE.     I  don't  understand. 

BASIL.     They  will!. 

Well,   Diana,   have   you   any   taunt   to 
fling  at  my  cowardly  head  ? 

DIANA.    It  is  all  so  new,  so  strange,  like  a  dream! 
You  are  not  the  Basil  of  those  long  ages 
ago,  before  the  war.     How  did  it  happen? 
[164] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

BASIL.  It  was  Something  that  came  to  me  one 
day  above  the  battlefield.  Among  the 
clouds.  Something  I  saw. 

DIANA.    What? 
BASIL.     God. 

They  all  stand  perfectly  stilly  staring 
.     at  him. 

I'll  tell  you  about  it,  if  you'd  like  to  hear. 
Won't  you  all  sit  down? 

They  do  so:  BASIL  at  the  base  of  the 
altar:  DAVID  and  ROSIE  on  the 
bench,  left.  DIANA  remains  where 
she  is. 

It  is  near  sundown.  The  sky  is  now 
a  deep  burning  purple,  shot  with 
gold. 

BASIL  tells  his  story  very  quietly,  in 
an  almost  commonplace  tone  of 
voice; 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

BASIL.  It  was  in  the  early  morning.  I  was  told 
off  to  reconnoitre.  We  had  suffered  heavily 
during  the  night;  but  with  the  dawn,  the 
cause  of  Heaven  was  vindicated  once  more. 
We  cut  them  into  mince-meat. 

I  wasn't  feeling  very  fit  that  morning. 
Insomnia,  fever,  all  that  kind  of  thing. 
As  I  buckled  myself  in,  a  big  black  cloud 
came  sweeping  overhead.  Bit  of  wind  on, 
I  thought.  Perhaps  blow  some  of  these 
cobwebs  away.  And  I  nodded  good-bye  to 
the  boys.  So  long,  old  hawk  !  said  one  of 
them:  Mind  you  don't  hit  Christ  up  there! 
Somehow,  the  word  stuck  in  my  head.  As 
I  left  earth,  the  birds  were  singing. 

The  first  few  thousand  feet  were  fairly 
easy.  A  stray  shot  grazed  me;  but  I 
didn't  consider  it  serious,  and  I  pressed  on. 
Then  suddenly — I  struck  that  cyclone! 
The  song  of  it  through  my  rigging  was  like 
jangling  harps. 

A  look  of  scared  remembrance  comes 
into  his  eyes. 
[166] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

It  was  alive.  I  felt  the  heave  and 
bulging  of  its  terrible  body,  I  drank  its 
breath,  heard  the  roaring  of  its  voices. 
I  found  myself  imagining — eyes!  .  .  . 

Then  I  got  mad.  I  set  myself  to  wrestle 
with  that  grim  unseen  antagonist,  as  though 
it  were  indeed  some  conscious  soul.  I  sup- 
pose I  grew  light-headed.  I  began  talking 
to  him,  challenging,  deriding!  Come  on, 
you  devil!  Come  on,  you  Son  of  Thunder, 
and  be  pulverized!  Then,  with  a  shift  of 
fancy,  came  to  me  that  scriptural  name 
for  God:  to  Pneuma  Hagion — the  Holy 
Wind!  It  tickled  me  immensely.  The 
quip,  the  irony  of  it!  And  the  cloud 
swooped  down  upon  me. 

You  people  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be 
lost  in  a  cloud.  The  dark,  the  desolation! 
It's  like  disembodiment — in  purgatory. 
You  lose  all  bearings.  Above,  below,  the 
usual  distinctions  don't  mean  anything. 
It's  only  when  the  things  begin  to  fly  up 
out  of  your  pockets.  .  .  .  And  not  always 
then.  There's  that  rush  of  blood  to  your 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

head!  There's  madness,  delirium!  ...  It 
seemed  ages.  Presently,  a  miracle  hap- 
pened, a  flood  of  light!  It  was  the  cloud 
whisking  away.  And  I  saw  the  world 
upside  down! 

That's  funny,  I  said:  /  always  thought  the 
sky  went  that  way!  Suppose  it's  all  right! 
That's  how  it  must  look  to  God! — Everything 
turned  about!  The  paradoxes,  the  time- 
worn  antinomies  floated  dimly  through  me. 
Damned  idiotic  arrangement!  I  muttered, 
and  grew  hideously  calm. 

He  continues  as  in  a  dream.  He 
seems  almost  to  have  forgotten  their 
presence. 

Then  bit  by  bit,  slowly,  I  became  aware 
that  I  was  not  alone.  He  had  circled 
around  me  several  times,  before  I  realized. 
I  saw  his  flag  first.  It  was  the  enemy's! 
...  I  gazed  at  it  stupidly,  trying  to  col- 
lect myself.  At  last,  I  said:  Why,  that's 
my  enemy!  There's  the  gutless  dog  that  is 
destroying  civilization!  And  I  emptied  both 
[168] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

my  barrels  into  him.  Then  I  grinned 
inanely,  and  looked  into  his  face.  It  was 
the  face  of  Christ!  .  .  . 

When  I  woke,  I  was  in  the  hospital.  It 
was  Maytime.  Through  the  open  window 
came  a  puff  of  wind,  bearing  a  scent  of 
blossoms.  And  the  birds  were  still  sing- 
ing. 

After  a  few  moments,  he  rises  and  says 
quietly; 

Now,  do  you  understand? 
The  others  rise  also. 

DAVID.  Only  too  well.  If  I  divine  you  rightly, 
you  forsake  your  vows  as  a  soldier,  your 
honour  as  a  gentleman,  your  king,  your 
flag,  your  country. 

BASIL.  You  divine  me  perfectly.  I  spit  out  of  my 
mouth,  the  service  of  Caiaphas  and  Pilate 
forever!  I  am  the  man  without  a  country! 
I  have  "accepted"  Jesus. 


THE   RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

He  emphasises  the  cant  wordy  bringing 
out  both  ironies. 

DAVID.    Do  you   believe  in   peace   at  any  price? 

BASIL.  Well,  at  the  price  of  everything  that  you 
call  honour. 

ROSIE.  I'm  with  David,  absolutely!  I  despise 
disloyalty!  Oh,  how  I  despise  it! 

BASIL.     And  you,  Diana? 

DIANA.    I'm  with  you,  Basil.    I  despise  it,  also. 

BASIL.  Then,  out  of  the  way,  you  mountebanks 
and  puppets  of  a  dead  and  dying  order! 
Clear  the  stage,  for  the  biggest  love-scene 
that  was  ever  played  on  earth! 

DIANA.    Love-scene!    What  do  you  mean? 

BASIL.     Between  the  New  Woman,  already  in  the 
world;    and  the  New  Warrior  coming  to 
her,  as  quickly  as  the  devil  and  the  Euro- 
pean War  will  let  him!    I'll  tell  you  all 
[170] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

about  it,  Diana,  as  soon  as  we  get  these 
married  people  bundled  out. 

DIANA.  No!  No!  I  am  unworthy!  I  am  un- 
worthy! 

And  she  darts  wildly  into  the  garden, 
like  a  stricken  deer. 

BASIL.  That's  the  second  time  she's  dodged  me 
today.  If  I  had  my  plane,  I'd  fly  to  her! 
If  I  were  Legge,  I'd  do  it  in  a  waltz!  But — 
lame!  .  .  .  There's  a  symbol  in  that,  too! 

Well,  Mrs.  Fleming,  Rosie — Let  me  call 
you  Rosie! — Anything  to  say? 

ROSIE,    Nothing!    Ever! 

She  minces  disdainfully  up  the  stair- 
way.   At  the  top,  she  turns; 

I  only  hope  you  may  get  her! 

And  that  is  the  end  of  ROSIE. 
BASIL,     You  anything,  David? 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 
DAVID     (gruffly).  No! 

He  turns  on  his  heel.     BASIL  recalls 
him; 


BASIL.     Oh,  David!  .  .  . 

Just  to  satisfy  one  last  flickering  nation- 
alistic interest.    What  was  your  mother? 

DAVID.    American.    Came  from  Milwaukee. 

And  he  follows  ROSIE  proudly.  It  is 
like  the  passing  of  an  emperor. 

It  is  sundown.  The  night  is  falling 
fast.  ION  enters  with  a  lighted 
lantern,  which  he  places  on  the 
altar. 

BASIL.     Ion!    Where  is  she? 

ION.         Under  the  fig-tree.    Weeping. 

And   without    another   wordy    BASIL 
limps  off. 
[172] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

ION  looks  around^  to  make  sure  the 
coast  is  clear.  Then  he  whistles 
softly  towards  the  cellar.  PROUT 
emerges  with  his  paraphernalia. 

ION.         Did  you  find  your  worm  ? 

PROUT.  I  have  been  strangely  misled.  This  is  no 
problem  in  polyandry  at  all.  I  find  noth- 
ing more  unusual  in  this  menage  than 
paranoia,  polymorphous  perverse,  intro- 
version and  dementia  praecox.  With  two 
exceptions.  The  young  man,  Legge,  I  re- 
gard as  a  healthy,  wholesome  specimen  of 
everything  modern  eugenical  science  might 
desire;  and  the  suffrage  woman  is  a  fine 
example  of  an  CEdipus  Complex,  stimulated 
by  the  demise  of  her  late  lamented  archae- 
ological Papa! 

I  won't  stay  dinner.  I  will  go  and  com- 
municate my  discoveries  to  my  friends  in 
Zurich  and  Vienna. 

He  moves  towards  the  villa,  and  stops. 

No!    Matrimony!    Ugh!  .  .  . 
[i73l 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

He  moves  towards  the  garden,  and 
stops. 

Love!    Ugh!  ...  Ah! 

And  he  chooses  LEGGE'S  way  of  the 
wall.  He  is  already  half -way  over. 

ION.        Take  care! 
PROUT.    Why? 

ION.         It  is  a  steep  place,  running  down  into  the 
sea. 

PROUT.    Too  late:   I'm  over! 

And  he  is.  A  moment  later,  DIANA 
and  BASIL  come  panting  in  from 
the  garden.  DIANA  takes  the  left 
of  the  altar,  and  faces  BASIL,  who 
is  on  the  right.  The  lantern  il- 
lumines them. 


BASIL.     Diana!    Diana! 
DIANA.    No!    No! 


[i74l 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

A  gun  is  heard  from  below. 

What's  that?  .  .  . 

ION.        Only  the  Harbour-Master,  telling:   All  is 

well! 

He  leaves  them. 

If  required,   the  CURTAIN   may  de- 
scend at  this  point. 


END   OF  THE   FOURTH   ACT 


12 


THE  FIFTH  ACT 

THE  WAY  OF  THE  TREE  OF  LIFE 


THE  FIFTH  ACT 

The  Scene  and  the  Situation  remain  unchanged: 
DIANA  and  BASIL  stand,  one  on  each  side  of  the  Altar 
of  the  Mother  of  the  Gods:  DIANA,  left;  BASIL,  right. 
The  night  has  fallen;  but  ION'S  lantern  is  there.  And 
the  moon  is  rising. 

BASIL.     Diana,  listen  to  me! 
DIANA.    I  daren't!    I  daren't! 

BASIL.  Oh,  Diana,  you  are  wrecking  me  at  the 
very  moment  of  my  freedom!  Don't  be 
selfish!  Think  of  me!  Remember  that 
glorious  outburst  of  passionate  eloquence 
I  poured  into  your  ears  down  yonder! 
Speeches,  a  playwright  might  have  envied! 
And  none  but  nightingales  to  hear  me !  Oh, 
these  love-scenes  that  nobody  ever  wit- 
nessed !  Think  of  the  greatness  of  the  thing 
I  offer  you,  Diana!  I'm  not  offering  mat- 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

rimony.  I'm  not  insulting  you!  This  is 
love!  Fm  simply  asking  you  to  live  with 
me! 

DIANA.    Yes,    I    think   I    understand!    Live   with 
you! 

BASIL.  With  you,  near  you,  by  you — anything: 
so  long  as  I  am  within  sight  of  your  beau- 
tiful face,  the  sound  of  your  adorable 
voice!  —  Oh,  your  voice!  It  isn't  like 
a  voice  at  all!  It  is  like  the  memory  of 
all  the  dreams  and  immortal  longings  of  the 
ages!  I  want  you  for  my  friend,  my  com- 
rade! As  for  matrimony,  that  evil  prot- 
estant  stew  of  smugness  and  bestiality, 
I  abjure  it!  The  Blessed  Sacrament  of 
Marriage,  if  you  will!  Some  day!  When 
I  am  worthy!  When  I  have  cleansed  my- 
self of — sex!  When  I  am  above  it,  be- 
yond it,  like  the  holy  angels  of  God !  But 
meanwhile,  friend,  comrade,  fellow-worker 
in  the  fashioning  of  a  new  world!  Diana, 
don't  you  know,  that  it  is  what  the  age  is 
waking  tor  Can't  you  feel  that  all  the 
winds  of  Heaven  are  driving  us  to  this? 
[if*] 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

DIANA.  Yes,  yes,  I  feel  that  too!  I  know  we  are 
on  the  threshold  of  the  Great  Miracle!  A 
New  World,  so  far  as  the  relation  between 
man  and  woman  is  concerned.  A  world 
of  less  sex  and  more  love.  There  shall  be 
real  children  in  that  world!  Children  with 
wings  maybe:  children  of  the  open  sky: 
maybe  at  last  some  Golden  Child,  quick- 
ened of  the  Wind  Himself!  Yes,  yes,  I  see 
the  beauty  of  it;  and  yet  .  .  . 

BASIL.  You  mean,  perhaps,  the  blind  sniggering 
multitude.  .  .  .  People  like  Rosie,  like 
Legge 

DIANA.  No,  I'm  not  thinking  of  what  people  might 
say!  It's  myself! 

BASIL.     Yourself? .  .  . 

DIANA.  Oh,  how  I  have  dreamed  of  this  day!  I 
have  waited  for  it,  all  women  have  waited 
for  it,  down  the  centuries!  I  too,  have 
heard  the  voices,  seen  the  sign  in  the  skies, 
have  known  the  rushing  of  that  Mighty 
Wind.  .  .  .  And  yet,  now  that  the  Day  is 
here,  I  am  afraid! 
[181] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 
BASIL.     Afraid!    Of  what? 

DIANA.  The  Thing  before  us!  The  Thing  already 
standing  at  trie  door. 

BASIL.  If  you  fear  that  perhaps  again,  after  this 
war.  . .  .  But  no!  This  is  the  war  that  ends 
war. 


DIANA.  War  end  war!  If  we  depend  upon  war  to 
end  war,  we  are  lost  indeed!  Already,  the 
nations  that  began  with  that  doctrine  are 
singing  their  hymns  of  hate,  planning  trade 
reprisals,  further  armaments  in  the  future. 
No!  War,  under  all  circumstances  is  abom- 
inable, blasphemous  and  obscene!  It  drags 
everything,  everybody,  into  its  pestilential 
vortex!  It  never  breeds  anything  but 
war!  It  is  the  destroyer  of  everything 
decent  and  human! 

BASIL.  That  is  true.  And  yet,  in  war,  I  have  seen 
heroisms,  that  .  .  . 

DIANA.  Oh,  don't  mistake  me!  God  knows,  I  do 
not  wish  to  pluck  one  laurel  from  the  sacred 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

brows  of  those  poor  mangled  victims  yon- 
der! Rather,  I  will  add  one.  They  were 
heroes  before  the  war — most  of  them. 
Heroes  in  mine,  in  factory,  in  fetid  slum! 
The  same  dastardly  hand  tortured  them  in 
both  cases.  Only  without  publicity,  the 
first  time.  Those  heroisms  were  un- 
gazetted!  No!  War  will  end  by  the  ad- 
vent of  Something  mightier  than  itself! 
It  is  here,  now!  At  the  door! 

BASIL.     What? 

DIANA.  The  Day!  The  coming  of  the  Lord  in 
clouds  of  glory!  The  millennium! 

BASIL      (under  his  breath).  Diana!  .  .  . 

DIANA.  It  may  be  already,  the  trumpets  have 
sounded,  for  those  that  can  hear:  for  those 
that  can  see,  already  the  graves  opened 
and  given  up  their  dead!  One  watches 
people's  faces.  .  .  .  There  is  a  strange  light! 
One  listens  to  the  unsaid  whisperings  of 
their  spirits.  ...  It  is  a  kind  of  Wind! 
And  everywhere!  Like  a  rustling  among 


THE    RIB    OF   THE    MAN 

the  leaves!     A  breathing  out  of  the  heart 
of  the  forest!  .  .  . 

That  is  why  I  am  afraid!     I  ask  myself, 
am  I  ready? 

BASIL.     That  is  a  terrible  thought,  Diana. 

DIANA.  It  is  a  terrible  moment  in  the  history  of 
the  world. 

BASIL.  Am  I  ready?  I  ask  myself  that  question, 
too. 

DIANA.  That  preparedness  is  worth  considering, 
isn't  it,  Basil?  It  goes  deeper  than  their 
hell-fire,  too!  It's  a  little  more  important 
than  saving  your  own  soul! 

BASIL.  Yes,  but  you'd  never  get  religious  people 
to  see  that! 

DIANA.  Nevertheless,  despite  their  infidelity,  when 
He  comes,  He  must  find  faith  on  the  earth. 

BASIL.     It  calls  for  a  New  Man! 

[184] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 
DIANA.    It  calls  for  a  New  Woman! 

BASIL.  Not  Superman!  It  must  be  Man  of  God's 
own  making!  Not  man  whose  line  goes 
back  through  ancient  lusts  and  tyrannies 
to  the  ravening  beast! 

DIANA.  Not  Superwoman!  But  Woman,  God's 
Helpmeet,  whose  line  goes  back  through 
pangs  and  crucifixions,  bearing  the  life  and 
rapture  of  the  coming  day! 

BASIL.     Where  shall  we  look  for  them? 

DIANA.  Perhaps  we  shall  find  them  here.  Among 
the  Common  People.  Once  they  are  set 
free. 

BASIL.     They  must  free  themselves. 

DIANA.  Yes,  we  must  free  ourselves!  And  each 
other!  We  must  free  ourselves  of  all  lies! 
Of  the  beast  within,  and  of  the  beast  with- 
out! We  must  free  ourselves  of  the  des- 
potisms, the  nationalities,  even  the  flags! 
We  must  free  ourselves  of  everything,  how- 
ever reverend,  that  makes  a  lie! 
[185] 


THE   RIB   OF  THE   MAN 
BASIL.     And  then?    In  this  broken  world?  .  .  . 

DIANA.    Forgive    one    another!    And    bring    forth 
anew! 


BASIL.     Have  you  any  definite  plans,  Diana? 

DIANA.  No!  They  are  in  the  hands  of  God.  He 
will  reveal  them.  We  must  follow  the 
light. 

Are  you  ready,  Basil? 

BASIL.     I  am  ready. 

DIANA.    Then — friend,  comrade,  beloved! 

They  join  hands  above  the  altar. 
BASIL.     Diana! 

DIANA  mounts  to  the  altar,  and  stands 
there  like  a  priestess  at  the  moment 
of  some  high  sacrament.  BASIL 
looks  at  her:  then  sinks  quietly  to 
the  base  at  her  feet. 
[1*6] 


THE    RIB   OF   THE    MAN 

DIANA.  There  is  something  more  beautiful  than 
passion,  Basil.  There  is  bliss.  Out  of 
bliss  come  forth  the  deathless  children  of 
the  spirit.  It  is  the  only  secret  of  crea- 
tion. The  secret  of  Great  Art,  of  Social 
Order,  of  a  New  World!  Out  of  bliss,  the 
Master  Craftsman  of  the  Universe  makes 
all  things.  He,  who  knows  the  last  word, 
ere  He  writes  the  first.  He  sees  the  action 
one,  complete  and  of  a  certain  magnitude. 
With  an  inner  and  an  outer  meaning, 
symbolical,  instinct  with  paradox  and 
irony  leading  deeply  unto  truth.  Inspir- 
ing! Uplifting!  Illuminating!  And  with 
cleansing  in  the  end ! 

BASIL.     Such  bliss  be  ours.    It  is  ours! 

DIANA.  Why  then,  our  Golden  Child  is  here!  That 
gladness  also  goes  to  the  making  of  this 
moment!  It  gives  the  assurance  of  the 
future  in  the  present!  And  not  only  so! 
Of  the  past  also!  It  makes  all  one!  No 
longer  will  I  mourn  the  dead!  Those 
stricken  brothers  yonder!  Rather  will  I 
sing  and  rejoice!  Why,  even  now.  •  •  t 


THE    RIB   OF   THE   MAN 

Any  moment,  any  moment — in  the  twink- 
ling of  an  eye.  .  .  .  Because  I  veritably 
believe.  .  . . 

BASIL.     Believe — what,  Diana? 

She  looks  at  him  curiously;  and  then, 
slowly,  emphasising  every  point,  says; 

DIANA.  Because  I  believe  in  the  Holy  Ghost,  the 
Lord  and  Giver  of  Life!  Who  spake  by 
the  prophets!  Because  I  believe  in  the 
forgiveness  of  sins!  The  resurrection  of  the 
body!  And  the  Life  everlasting!  Amen! 

The  moonlight  is  upon  them.  There 
is  heard  the  sound  of  nightingales 
in  the  garden;  and  a  faint  stirring 
of  wind. 

The  CURTAIN  descends. 


END  OF  THE   PLAY 


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